When The Cold War gets Personal
by SA18LockDragon
Summary: "He doesn't understand how amazing and beautiful you are, Bela... but I do." Belarus read the note from the man her brother forbade her to see. "So please, stay with me." She paced the room, looking for an answer. Two wonderful men were forced at war for her. She had to make a decision before it's too late. Find out why! Russia x Belarus x America Hetalia Axis Powers AmeBel RusBel
1. Chapter 1

**Привет, This is my first uploaded fanfic and I truly wish you'll like it. I can accept critics, but please be gentle. I still have not decided if Belarus will be Russia's or America's yet. I will leave the voting to you. Seriously. I'm not sure if this fanfic will get a lot of favs and comments, but if you happen to review, please add a vote. I also have a personal rule—that is every chapter should be minimum of 3000 words. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to update pretty soon, since I'll be attending my freshman year at college this June. So I hope my long chapters will pay for that. By the way, the POVs, is just mixed up. I like to go from one character's POV, to another. **

**I do not own Hetalia, and this is entirely fan-made._That's why it's called a fanfiction._**

**WHEN THE COLD WAR GETS PERSONAL**

-Chapter One-

America let out a startled gasp as he woke up in darkness. He developed some sort of fear, because he was alone in the dark, in the huge conference room, at the middle of the night. He yawned and stretched. He was still seated on his seat, and clearly abandoned. Why didn't anyone woke him up when the meeting ended up hours ago? The countries were probably playing a prank on him. He grunted at the thought.

Just as he thought that he was completely alone at the building, he heard two pairs of footsteps, one lighter than the other. _Ghosts?_ A sudden pang of fear enveloped his mind. Then he heard miserable girlish crying. The voice was almost familiar, yet he never heard that cry. Another male voice though, America heard speaking in a tongue he did not know. "Natalia!" the voice belonged to Russia, he was certain, although the tone of his voice was unfamiliar to him—guilt, concern and grief?

Natalia Arlovskaya entered the conference room, wearing her usual navy blue dress but her expression was not hers, almost looking like a different person. America hadn't seen much of her since the Cold War ended except when she attends the regular meetings and sometimes messing with her brother. He could still remember her faces clearly, especially the time when she was fighting off Germany and she mistook America for an enemy. Her eyes gleamed with violent anger, her smile apathetic though sometimes evilly grinning. Her clothes were always soaked with blood from fallen enemies and daggers were almost a part of her fingers. She looked so wicked back at those days, yet nevertheless beautiful. America mentally face-palmed himself remembering a distant memory when she went in combat with him, when he fought her gun versus knives—he remembered when he was stunned for a second, frozen on his tracks as he gazed upon her, straddling him in the ground and holding a knife, in attempt to cut his throat. He remembered the feel of his cheeks burning as she involuntarily seduced him. She never changed, even as the war between them was over. He even tried to make friends with her, but she was too cold for him to soften. Now she looked terrible—broken-down and miserable, weak and helpless.

She buried her face in her hands and melted to the ground, sobbing more loudly. She did not notice the American standing a few distances in front of her, coated in the darkness. It was not long when Ivan Braginski followed her and took a few seconds to catch his breath. He looked terrible as well. His brows were furrowed in concern, his mouth frowning in a way of grief, his eyes guilty. He knelt beside his sister and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Natalia, don't cry—please don't cry." Russia's voice was comforting and echoing with guilt. "I'm so sorry."

"Take it back, brother!" Belarus shouted, her tone angry. "Take back what you said to me!"

"Natalia, it can't happen. I'm sorry, I truly am." Russia sighed. "I have no romantic love for you or for anyone else. You're my precious sister, and I love you much, though not as much you want. But, we can't always get what we want…"

_They're talking about the marriage thing again,_ America thought, concerned as well. He was aware of Belarus' love for her brother, and aware that he did not love her back. He observed from before, that Russia just lets his sister harass him, since he really can't do anything. He can't threaten her because she's his sister, and he always had a bond with her. He loved her yes, but not enough for Belarus.

Belarus turned her back on Russia and shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "I need you, do you not understand? I've been struggling to keep strong and keep both my feet planted on the ground since 1991, brother! Those old days from the Soviet Union, and days from longer before that, you've always been there for me. You've been my savior and the post that kept me standing on. I just want you back, and to make it last forever, is that too much to ask for?"

"You must understand, Natalia, I am always here for you." Russia's voce dropped a tone lower. "I will protect you from those who wish to harm you and be your solid foundation, but all that process can be done without tying knots. I can't marry you, Natalia. I'm sorry I cannot return your love. Just don't ask again, my answer will always be the same. I will never marry you. Please, calm down and understand."

"No!" Belarus yelled. "No I won't! Leave me alone!"

"Belarus, don't push me away," Russia's lids dropped.

"Isn't that what you want? Fine, I'll leave your side forever. It would be like I never existed." Belarus sobbed. "Just go away. GO AWAY!"

"Belarus, you know that's not what I intend. At least let me take you home safely." Russia was to grab her hand but she pulled it away. "Please."

"I'm fine on my own! Leave me be."

"Belarus, I can't—"

"JUST GO! I don't want to be with you anymore. I want to stay here far from you."

Russia surrendered. "And where are you going to stay here in New York? How can you live a stranger in this foreign country? Please, let me take you back to your home."

"I don't want to go, Russia." She addressed him formally and did not call him Ivan, or brother. "I want to stay away from you and end this silly story. I want a break from hurt. So please, leave." She was sobbing, and she was struggling to find any dignity left. She wanted him so bad, America knew. She forced herself to get mad at him, because she did not know what to do. She can't beg for him to marry her now.

"Belarus, be reasonable—"

"Hey, Russia." America felt the need to interrupt. He stepped out of the darkness and revealed himself to the light coming from the other room. "I can take care of your sister if she wants to stay here."

Both countries turned and glared at him, Belarus with puffy eyes, and Russia with a hurt look which quickly turned deadly. Belarus gasped for air while he stood up abruptly. "Why are you here?" His voice stern.

Alfred gave a shrug. "I just woke up—fell asleep in the meeting, but never mind about that. If the lady doesn't want to go, you can't make her to. I can help. I promise to be hospitable and I can even take her on a tour on every State."

"Why should I trust my sister to you?" Russia's eyes were raged. Purple irises almost turning to indigo.

America ignored that. "I'm the hero, remember? Besides, I can't let her off alone in a country she's unfamiliar with…and I can't let her stay with you, judging from your, ah, situation."

"You know nothing, scow—"

"I'll go with America!" Belarus yelled. "I want to go with him." America's attention was momentarily shifted to Belarus alone. He knew that she only agreed to go with him, is that because of Ivan. He knew she didn't like him, or his country. But at that moment, America was almost happy that someone would want to be in this star-spangled country.

Russia looked down at his sister, her face hidden behind strands of blonde hair. His expression softened as he knelt down beside her again, "as you wish." He brushed his fingers through her blonde locks. "I do hope you'd understand, sweet sister. Stay safe." He kissed her forehead and left.

Her gaze followed him out, and after, tears obscured her vision again, and she started to cry once more. She loved her brother so much why can't he love her back? Isn't she enough? What does he want from a girl anyway? Belarus only been too pushy because she's completely obsessed with him, and now she's in the condition she believes that is called desperation. A word she's familiar with, almost a scar to forever remain with her. She felt lame and stupid to get herself rejected. Of course she was always get rejected by Russia every day, but tonight he made it final. That's what Belarus cannot accept. She was always asking—no forcing him every day to marry him, since it was the only thing she could think of to say. He doesn't talk to her unless she does—and every day, she believes it a new start, and every day she would lie to herself that Russia would change his mind and finally agree to their marriage. _Things never stay the same forever_, she thought—but there is also a saying that _some things never change_. What is she to believe?

It doesn't matter anymore; she gave up and raised her white flag.

By the time her eyes open, she saw America knelt down in front of her, his handkerchief wiping the tears that dripped from her eyes. "Shhh, hey, don't cry. I'm here for you." Belarus felt weak, and hopeless, and not herself. Even this man she barely knows came to her aid and helped her. What is his reason? They never talked for years, or care of each other's existence, yet he helped her like she was a friend of his. "Hey, if you still feel like crying it out, you have my shoulder." He made an unexpected move, extending his arms and reaching for Belarus; he pulled her close to him and rested her head gently on his shoulder. Belarus tensed at the touch and gesture, trying to break from his hold, but he was too strong. Any man who tried to touch her, she will torture, but she is not Belarus tonight. Instead, what she felt though, a comforting warmth she found alluring, the kind of warmth her brother radiated. Finally she gave up, and her body relaxed and she willingly sobbed on his shoulder.

America felt her tension fade, but his own body stiffened, and his face burned. He stroked her back continuously as to comfort her, and then his heart raced. He loosened his hold, so she would not feel his heart's beating and hide the sudden attraction.

"Why?" Belarus mumbled on his shoulder between sobs. "Why did you help me? I am no friend of yours. I was an enemy, and I tried to spill your blood before. Why are you kind?"

America blushed harder. He had to think of his words before he replied, "I'm the hero, remember that. You looked so beaten. I cannot refuse the opportunity to help my fellow countries, especially a maid like you—" _Oh no, I did not say that_. He swallowed. "I mean, it's my job to keep peace and help countries all over the world! And um…and well, because I can't just leave you alone here while you're crying, besides I like to be your friend again, since you're one of the few countries I don't talk to much. Would you give me another chance?"

For a heartbeat, America saw a silhouette on the edge of the door of the room, a bloodcurdling and disturbing figure that can only belong to Russia. _What is he still doing here?_ America looked closely and saw his eyes, glaring with violence and rage. He quickly hid away from America's sight_. I'm ignoring that_, America thought.

Belarus did not reply or talk anymore, she stopped crying for now, but her broken heart is still far from healing. Her hands grabbed his sleeves and gripped at them hard, until her hands shook. She lifted her head and looked at Alfred. Her eyes were red from crying and her lips curled to a frown. America could tell she was only trying not to cry, and will do it once she's alone. "Hey, c'mon, let's get out here. I happen to be staying in a condo here in Manhattan. Let' go."

Belarus only nodded. When America stood and offered a hand, she took it reluctantly. She still had not decided to trust this country. She knew almost nothing about him now. Yet still, she ran away from her brother and promised him that he would never feel her presence again. Where is she to go? She can't come home yet, nor to Ukraine's or Lithuania's Estonia's or Latvia's. It way too close to memories, and her brother. She wanted days, months or maybe years away from him. Maybe if she wouldn't see him, she'll forget all about him, and finally end this heartbreak. Where else is she to go then? She limits herself from contact with the other countries, developing such a repelling aura, so they'll stay away. She's still afraid that one of these countries might invade her lands again, and hurt her. Who else is she to turn to but America? She has to go with him.

"Awesome." He now offered his arm to her, and she was hesitant. "Hey, I'm just afraid you might fall down any minute, so let me be your guide." He smiled dazzlingly. Belarus did not want to do such gesture, but he was right. She needed a solid post. Her knees were trembling and her body was still unhealthy from the shock. She dropped her eyes and shyly curled her arm around his. He led her out the building and to his sports car while talking all the way. Belarus knew he was only trying to make things less awkward and maybe try to cheer her up a bit, but it did not work. She did not listen to him, since she was too busy listening to her thoughts, playing the scene in her head, the scene where Ivan hurt her, and did this over and over again.

"Bela? Yo, Bela, earth to Belarus."

"Huh?" Belarus snapped out of her thoughts. Alfred was waving his hand in front of her face.

"Oh good, now we can go." He opened the car door for Belarus, "here you go, m'lady!" he said cheerfully. Belarus slipped in the passenger seat while America closed the door and got in to the driver's seat. "Alright, I'll give you a tour on New York while we make our way to Fifth Avenue."

America drove around New York, taking the longest routes. He showed her the Statue of Liberty, a peace offering from France, the Empire State building, and where the twin towers once stood. His knowledge about the facts was amazing, and even more amazing was the view of New York at night. Belarus had been to New York several times before, especially when the United Nations held a meeting, but she never really enjoyed it as a tourist. America promised to go to different spots on New York the next day, and Belarus was almost happy about that. She once told him though, that she hated his country because his people mistrusts hers, but, she could not deny the views America had to offer. The view did distract her momentarily from Russia, but only for a short while. Later on, her mind slipped off to her personal torture chamber again, and completely forgotten about New York.

Her eyes flew open once she felt the car stop. "Here we are," America announced. The car was already parked on a spot on an underground parking lot. Judging from the candy wrappers and Macdonalds' trash, Belarus guessed this was America's spot and his spot only. "C'mon, my room's on the top floor, so the view's excellent! We can even sneak up the roof top."

"Hmm? Sure…"

"C'mon, Bela, don't be shy," he grabbed her hand and pulled her along the elevator. He pushed the button and they waited as he still held her hand. "So, are we friends now? Or still have to sign some papers of our peace?"

Belarus hid her face under her hair as she blushed a little. "Um…okay. But one wrong move, or I may have to kill you."

"Eh?" He sounded scared, but still remained in contact with her hand. "I thought that was Russia's job…" he noticed how she slumped and sighed in grief, and he knew he hit a nerve just by mentioning Russia. "Hey, I'm sorry…look, just forget about it and—oh, it's here…?"

The elevator doors opened, and to their surprise, a man and a woman were locked in an intimate kiss. When the couple heard the "ding" sound, they broke the kiss, and straighten their clothes. The man turned, and he was the familiar well-dressed French, who always been a former easy target to Germany—"France?"

"Ah, there you are, Jones. I've been waiting for you since 8 this evening for I have news to say. But instead, I found this fine mademoiselle, and we had so much fun!"

"Okay, dude, too much information."

France giggled. "I guess our talk can wait for tomorrow."

"I can't. I'm busy."

"Then…" France noticed the girl hiding behind America's back. "Is that…Russia's sister?"

"Yes," America's voice dropped to a whisper, "and don't mention Russia to her."

"Hmmm? I can see your holding her hand—and you both are going to your room, yes? Oh, I am so posting this on the U.N. webpage!"

America blushed. "No, dude! You got the wrong idea! I'm only—"

"Hello there, Ms. Natalia," France called. "You look beautiful tonight, mademoiselle. Though, what's with the sad face?"

Belarus sighed. "It is nothing."

"Well, I hope this fellow right here can make your troubles go away. You will help her, right, America?" France grinned.

America stammered. "Dude, j-just get out of t-the freaking elevator already!"

"He…" Belarus addressed France. "He did promise to help."

France giggled, "mæg'nɪfɪsən!" He patted America on the back and kissed Belarus' hand. "Good luck you two!" he put an arm around the girl he found and walked away.

America was scratching his head. "S-Sorry about that…"

Belarus let go of America's hand to block the elevator door before it closed. "Let's go."

They got in the elevator, and the situation was beyond awkward. America stared at the ground to hide his blushing. _I'm standing in an elevator with Belarus_, America thought. _What's it with elevators?_ It was a long way up to the top floor, and no one seemed to get in the elevators with them. _Why are elevators such an aphrodisiac_? The walls of the elevator was covered in mirrors and America took a glance on one the mirrors to look at Belarus. She was staring at her fingers, where she was holding a knife. America swore that was the knife she tried to kill him with way back during when Germany fought the Soviet Union. She looked on her side of the mirrors and caught America staring at her. "Hey Bela, do you mean to use that on me again?"

It took her four floors to reply. "I still don't trust you, but you're all I have at the moment…"

"Hey, I'm your hero, remember that."

"I don't need a hero."

America did not know what to reply, especially since that is what she said before, when she left the States. Judging by the current situation, she does need a hero. America frowned by thinking that he may not be the hero she needs. The elevator doors finally open to his room, "ah, here we are." America gestured for her to come in.

The first thing Belarus saw was the huge American flag hanging vertically from ceiling, an inch before touching the floor. The American bald eagle hanged from the top of the flag, looking majestic. Next she saw were the huge glass windows covering two corners of the room, revealing a magnificent view of Manhattan. Next was the huge flat screen TV accompanied by two huge stereos on both sides, and a gaming device below that. Stacks of albums and DVDs were alphabetically ordered and put in a glass compartment on top of the TV. She saw the red and white striped couch with blue throw pillows star-spangled with fifty white stars. The coffee table was decorated with the map of the United States placed over the glass. The walls were covered in navy blue paint, which Belarus found appealing.

"So… isn't this a total kickass or what?" America grinned while Belarus marveled.

"It is very appealing."

"Yeah." America scratched his head. "Hey, um…want dinner?"

Belarus sadly shook her head. "No, I'm not hungry."

America picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Of course you are!" He grinned. "I don't have any ingredients left in the fridge so I'll just order food service is that okay?"

"Um…no, thank you."

"Oh c'mon, Bela, please?" He paused for a while, just staring at her, waiting for an answer. The woman on the phone picked up saying something like "Good evening, ma'am/sir. How may I help you?" America ignored the person on the other side of the line and will pursue on doing it until Belarus give a response. America is still very much the same. He still uses those cute blue eyes on her, so she couldn't say no. "Hello? Ma'am? Sir?"

"Fine." Belarus sighed.

"Great!" America grinned, like he always does. "Um…yeah, hello? Can I ask for room service at this time of the night? Yes…I'd like to order um…do you have fast food? You don't! Uh…fine, I'll have one of those…roasted chicken? Yeah, and whatever the side dishes. You do have soda, right? Good. Wait—Hey, Bela, what do you like to eat?"

"Anything I guess."

"Okay…say, make that two." He hung up. "Hey Bela…you up for Martinis?"

"Hm? Yeah, whatever."

"Right! I'll be right back." He went inside a glass door, and she guessed it may had been the kitchen. She followed him inside and found that it was a mini bar. Different assortments of liquor were displayed behind a glass. Wine and shot glassed of different shapes and sizes hung upside down on one compartment. To her left, she saw a stairway, leading up to another room. America was behind the bar counter preparing her a drink. "Hey. Do you like it?"

"Yes." She seated herself on the chair across the bar table. She watched him mix and shake the liquor. When he was satisfied, he poured colorless liquid on a tall wine glass, placed a mini umbrella and served it to Belarus. "Here you go, mademoiselle."

Belarus smiled at the comment, remembering France. Quickly did it fade though, but still, a smile nonetheless. She took sips of Martini and soon enough the glass was empty. "More?"

"Tsk Tsk." America smirked. "Fine, but will be the last." He made her another drink, and she gulped down like it was water. "Whoa, Bela, easy on the liquor." He watched her fidget with the glass. She made a "tch" sound and America laughed. "Do you remember the times you tched me like that? If I have a nickel for every time, I would come up with quite a sum."

"Ah, I do not like to cling to the past."

"I thought you said you would like to go back to the days of your childhood. When Ukraine and Russia was with you."

Her face gloomed. "Yes, I guess I would like to go back to only those memories."

"Bela?" America leaned toward her on the table. "I know it's not my position to say this, but, maybe you should just try and forget. There's no use in forcing a person to love you…you'll just get hurt."

Belarus blushed and refused to look him in the eye. "It's not easy. You don't even understand how it feels! To get rejected every damn day by the person you love. To always be ignored and endured. He never talks to me anymore, these past few months. Only little does he talk…I…" a tear escaped her eyes.

"But I _do_ understand, Bela." He stroked her cheek and turned her head slightly to face him. "Took me a few centuries to finally love a girl, you know. Bela, do you really not remember anything?"

Warm tear dripped on the hand he placed on her cheek. He wiped his thumb over her tears. "I stabbed you in the heart! I tried to kill you and hurt you several times after your government distrusted my country." Her voice broke. "You should hate me…! You deserve someone much better—far better."

"Is that what Russia told you? That you deserve better?" He sighed. "Maybe you do." He leaned over to kiss her, but before he can, the elevator doors beeped.

"Room service…" a man called.

Neither of them moved. They let a minute pass, then another while still frozen. "Um…right, I'll just leave it here…" the man who brought them their food announced and later the sound of the elevators closing. Belarus stared at Alfred's startling blue eyes and seemed to melt down as he fixed unblinking eyes at her. Her whole body tensed and leaned back. "LET GO!" She threatened him with a knife softly touching his throat.

At the feel of the cold steel, America leaned back away. "I'm sorry, Bela…I just got carried away…" he raised his hands in surrender. _What am I doing?_ America mentally scolded himself. _Idiot! You know she'll never stop loving that bastard brother of hers. She only got her heart broken what were you thinking?_ "I'll get dinner."

Belarus sheathed her knife under her skirt. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you do something like that again, I won't hesitate to kill you."

America was stupefied momentarily, and then slowly, his lips formed that grin once more. "Ah, that's the Bela I know and love!" He left the room to prepare their dinner, and once alone, his grin dropped and frowned. _No matter what I do, she still won't understand what I feel._

Belarus was so confused. She was thankful that America's presence distracted her, even only a slight distraction from Russia. America was the same. He never changed since 1991; he was still nice to her. What has she done to deserve his hospitality? It was 1991, she was alone and a mess, but her former enemy, took her under his wing and prepared her to be independent. He was the reason that she was alone in the first place, so whatever he had done to befriend her, she would deny and reject. In the end, she couldn't even repay him. She can't give him what he asked of her, partly because she still wanted to be with Russia, partly because she had a hard time believing, even now. No one wanted her before, what is so special about her to be wanted? She wouldn't believe it; he was only toying with her. "Brother, you don't want me too, da?" She wiped a tear.

It was a moment later when America came in with the food. He served her, but Belarus would not eat. She only used the table knife to stab the chicken breast. America was almost done with his food while Belarus hadn't taken bite from her plate. "Hey Bela, can I have some of that chicken?"

"Uh, yeah, whatever."

He reached and cut a portion of the meat and pierced the fork through. He leaned forward again, cupping Belarus face and shoved the meat in her mouth. "Chew," he commanded. Belarus hesitated. "Chew or I'll do it for you." Panicked by what that meant, she chewed and swallowed. "Good. Now I'm going to take a shower. If that's not finished by the time I came, I…" he trailed off and went upstairs, leaving the Belarusian to decipher what that meant.

It was an hour or more when Alfred came down. Showering and changing took him only a few minutes, but cleaning his room took a lot of time. He tried to make it as presentable as possible in a short period of time, shoving trash and books, paperwork, and dirty laundry under the bed. When he was about to fetch her, he saw her passed out, sleeping on the bar table. He saw that she'd eaten most of her dinner, but a near empty bottle vodka beside her meant she was drinking. How'd she even drink that fast? Alfred examined the bottle, and knew that that was the strongest vodka he owned. Not only that, but she etched a Russian phrase on the mahogany counter, probably using one of her knives. "проклинаю это сердце." Sighing, he carried her up his arms, and laid her to his king-size bed. She tucked her in the right side of the bed, far from the left, where he'll be sleeping. Belarus sighed in her sleep, and Alfred couldn't help to smile at how cute she looked. He brushed strands of her blonde hair away from her face and kissed her nose. A disappointment, since he knew that's how close as he could get.

"Goodnight, sweet Natalia."

Slumber found its way toward Alfred, but sweet slumber only lasted a few, for loud shatters of brittle objects woke him up. He wondered if Belarus was going crazy for what her brother did to her, but when he switched on his lamp, he found her sleeping at the far end of the bed. Then, who was trashing his apartment? He hurriedly went downstairs to see who the intruder was and give him a piece of his mind. Holding a pistol on his hand, he sneaked up to the living room, where more shattering was heard. A strong scent of alcohol made Alfred wrinkle his nose. Someone's been messing with his vintage! He let himself be in full view, with the gun in front of him, just in case.

"Ah! I knew you'd wake."

Alfred's jaw dropped. Purple eyes, gleaming with anger and an open gateway to his soul, and all you can see is the dark depth of his evil nature, or so at least, toward Alfred. "Russia? What the hell, man? You think you can barge in here wasting my precious vintage? You'll pay for that," Alfred yelled.

Ivan's mouth formed a sweet smile, yet it did not match the eyes that crave for bloodlust. "Where is my sister?" He stood from where he sat, knocking down three cocktails from three table with his pipe. "That makes twenty-seven, but who's counting?"

"Dude, just get lost! If trespassing is legal in Russia, well, it sure isn't here."

"So what? You'll call the police?" Russia said in a mocking voice. "Again I ask—where is my sister?"

"She's asleep."

"She must be drunk to be sleeping through all the noises." He knocked down a tequila. "Hmm…" He reached down for the bottle Belarus was drinking earlier. "This is her favorite. Did you get my sister drunk, Jones? What did you do to her?" He crushed the bottle with his fist. "Tell me if you've bedded my sweet sister, so then I won't hesitate to drain all your blood and discard it on the pointy end of the Empire State building."

This man must be crazy. "Just so you know, she'd gotten herself drunk, and did it without my consent." He swallowed. "And you know the hero won't take advantage of a helpless maiden, idiot!"

Russia's eyes narrowed. "That is silly." He used the faucet end of his pipe to swat the gun out of America's hand. "You are no hero and you Americans are not trustworthy." Again, with the end of his weapon, he pinned America on the wall, suffocating as the faucet pressed hard on his throat. "I don't want you having an affair with my sister, do you understand?"

Choking, America gripped on the pipe and tried to loosen it a bit. He managed a few words, "u-unless she wants to."

Russia clearly did not like that answer. He repositioned the faucet, so it was now on the back of America's neck, gave a hard yank, and America fell on the floor. "You will not harm or touch her. If you do, I'll scrape out the stars on your flag—all fifty of them."

America saw his pistol on the floor beside him. He rolled towards it and once it was pointed to the Russian's head, he pulled the trigger. Ivan only swatted the bullet away from him with his pipe, and redirected it on the floor beside Alfred.

"Natalia wants to be in this dump you call a country, in a sorry excuse to get away from me—"

"Yeah, I'd do the same too, if I was her."

"Shut your mouth. Can you see I am not done? Now, I can't stop her. You will accompany her, take her under you wing, like you used to—and which I did not like a bit before, much less now." He knocked down another bottle. "Anyway, you will take care of her until she is ready to go home, and come back to me. You will consider my terms, da?"

"More like threats."

"Terms, threats, it means the same to me. Now, remember my words, Jones," Russia smirked. "My sister is too precious for a country like you. If you have any ideas, I'll revive the Soviet Union once again, and relive the Cold War. Now, I'm pretty sure my sister will side with me."

"We'll see."

Russia looked at him with those dark purple eyes, which was alike and quite unlike Bela's eyes, when it gleamed with thirst for blood. Hers was still pretty and hypnotizing, but her brother's like the empty sockets of where the Reaper's once had been. It's freaking creepy!

"Jones, just don't take my sister away from me, you understand?"

Alfred only gave a nod. He watched him smirked, and took a bottle of vodka and left. That was fast. Russia was very straight to the point, but he missed a fact. War will certainly be against the leaders of Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and the Baltics. If Ivan Braginski would force a war, despite the leaders' hesitation, he would rebuild Communism again. That's going to be bad, and will be a huge headache for America. Last time, he had the upper hand, since the Soviet Union was still rebuilding while the U.S.A had the money and the supplies. Now, he knew the Russians were prepared for an unexpected war. If it's going to be war, it's going to be a fifty-fifty. Ivan is prepared to break the rules, but Alfred so? Would he take the risk of that just for Belarus? America grunted, "What the hell is wrong with that man?"

-end of chapter one-

_проклинаю это сердце- curse this heart. (google translate isn't very accurate, so I don't know if this is correct Russian)_

**My special thanks to PandaHanChina-chan (Deviantart account) for the drawing "Bloody Belarus" for this series. Awesome work, Panda-chan. Anyway, I would've drawn Belarus myself, but, I'm too lazy. As for the Words America used in the summary, those belonged to Electyfyingx (Youtube account). Thank you Electriyingx. You guys should check out his video—they're awesome.**

**So, what do you guys think? I hope you review, and tell me about your thoughts. I hope you don't think it's lame—cause I do. I've posted this on with the same title (username: SunakoAeris), just so you guys know. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I apologize for the late update. School had been busy. Sorry if this chapter is kinda off, but it's all I can do for the moment. Length of the chapter is pretty long, but each scene is cut short since I was too lazy to elaborate...sorry. Anyway, hope you guys have the patience to read this chapter. Please review, if it's not too much to ask, since I gotta know your opinion about this chapter. Don't get much, so yeah, each review makes me happy :D but please be gentle on me.**

* * *

-chapter two-

The way her beautiful face lit up in bliss, the way her red lips form a sincere smile, those glassy purple eyes and how they twinkle with genuine happiness had almost made him change his mind. Slowly and gracefully, she walked toward him in the middle of the room, her eyes on him alone, unaware of the beauty around her held. "Brother…?" Her voice was soft and unbelieving, with hints of joy and satisfaction. "This—what is all these?" She paused to scan the room she only had noticed just that moment, enjoying every bit of it.

Russia's office, which used to be, had converted into a sunflower garden. Everywhere, there were vases of lovely sunflowers decorating the room. There was no light that night, except from the hundreds of candles that lit up the room, and the bright full moon that shone out the polished window. Yellow petals lay under their feet, thousands more scattered around the floor. Nothing could've made it perfect, but for the centerpiece of it all—Ivan. Belarus fixed her eyes on him yet again, and the room was immediately disremembered.

"A beautiful night, isn't it?" Russia beamed his sweet, deceiving smile. "Please, come to me." He extended his hand, gesturing for her to take it.

She moved her feet, each step anxious to be with her beloved, yet suddenly—she stopped and hesitated, "is this real…? Are you real?"

"Come and find it out." He extended his arm longer, stepping closer to her, waiting and demanding for response.

She was still tentative, skeptical that her brother is actually there and craving to touch her. Unbelieving that it is actually him, that this may be another dream. A part of her mind was telling her that this right here was impossible, that Ivan would never bother to do all these for her. He never loved her, not once. Yet she was grateful that somehow she's witnessing this wonderful experience. If she took his hand, will the dream end like it always does? She doesn't want to risk it, not when all seems so factual. She lifted her gaze from his hand to his face. His lips formed a smile when she met his eyes. They were troubled, pained even, but his hand longed for her touch. She shyly placed her hand in his, experimentally twining her long thin fingers around his. "Real."

Her features relaxed, as her eyes soften with emotion. She was in her most ecstatic and emotional condition at that moment, and Russia did not want to ruin it. That would be mean of him—so mean of him. But what other choice did he have? The heart will break, no matter how much he tried to escape it. Better now, better this way. He could feel her grip tightening, his hand throbbing as she squeezed it with yearning.

"Real." Belarus smiled so passionately, so genuinely…

…that it hurt…

The guilt Russia was suffering was overwhelming the physical pain he was sensing from his hand. He just had to do it. This is what he wanted, and this's the best for the both of them. "Is it?" Russia murmured to himself, not loud enough for Belarus to hear. _Of course it is_, Russia assured himself. Next step; how was he to tell her? By the use of the kiss—slap—kiss.

_This is "kiss."_

Russia held a sunflower in front of Belarus, which he had hid behind his back the entire time. She took it gratefully, and stroked the petals across her pink cheek. "You look beautiful, Natalia," he told her. It was not a lie, but was something he realized a long a time ago, yet he only had appreciated it just now. The Belarusian girl flushed harder, though it was hard to tell by candlelight. It was not often did he compliment her, or even talk to her so calmly. She's pretty, sweet and likable when she did not try to harass him or scare people away. It was a pleasant feeling, to have her as his sweet sister again, when he did not have to worry about marrying her or hurting her feelings. However, that's never the same for Belarus, that's why he had end this now.

"Thank you, brother." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face on his scarf as Russia felt a warm drop of tear run down his neck. "I love you, Ivan. I love you so much. If this was a dream, I never want to wake up from it anymore. I want this moment to freeze forever. You make me so happy, brother. I love you…" she sobbed on his shoulder.

"I love you too, sister." He wrapped his arms around her, one hand stroking her back to soothe her. "So much, I want you to remember that."

* * *

A sharp slam rang violently in Russia's ears, therefore making him flinch, thus interrupting the memory he was playing on his mind.

"RUSSIA!" Ukraine yelled, demanding his attention. She had slammed her palms on the wooden table to snap him out of his daydream. "Are you even listening?"

Russia frowned less subtly. He can't help it but to think of Belarus. The way her face lit up in ecstasy, the way it darkened with misery. The way she fancied him and the way she resented him, the way her eyes twinkled and moistened, the words she said, the gestures she did—a lot had happened that night. "It seemed so long ago, but it's only been a few hours…" Russia trailed off, addressing no one in mind, just wondering loudly.

Ukraine sighed and slump her shoulders. "Russia, sweet," She reached across the table to stroke his cheek. "I know how you feel, even if you don't understand it yourself." Her words were both sympathetic and empathetic.

"I'm sorry, my mind's only wandering." He sat straight. "So, again with the meeting—Lithuania, what do you say?" There was a slight indication of threatening in Russia's tone.

The Baltic country shivered before answering, "uh…sir, there's a problem…see, my leaders would not approve of your proposals. It was not acceptable. Lithuanians would not participate in this act." He stammered seeing Russia's glare. "U-Uh…I mean, as much as I wanted to keep Miss Belarus off that American nation—I c-can't! Lithuania cannot take further risks. N-not after the dissolution of the CCCP... and the power the USA now hold…and—"

"Alright, I heard enough!" Russia held back his temper. "Estonia?"

The blonde nation jerked by the sound of his name. "S-Sir Russia…" his eyes dropped, watching his fingers fidget, unable to make eye contact with Ivan. "I'm sorry. I am forever loyal; however, my leaders did not want any such participation in this project. I'm afraid the risk is too high to lose."

Russia growled. "Latvia!"

The cute nation cried at the harsh pronunciation of his name. "Yeah, what he said!"

Russia's eyes met Ukraine's. "Fine, I'll do it on my own then!" He stood up and abruptly turned his back on the others.

"Brother, you must listen to me!" Ukraine grabbed his hand. "What's the point of war? I see no profit in it. Even if you manage to destroy America off the map, what will you do then? Do you think that will be enough to convince sister to come back?"

"I will do what I can to bring her back." Russia said, pulling his hand away from her.

Ukraine swallowed. "The West will participate against us if you touch the United States. Do you really want peace to slip off our fingers again?" Ukraine began to cry. "You'll implicate not only us into war, but most of the world too!" She placed a hand on his shoulder, "I want the USSR back, I do, but in these terms—war—do you really want that for Natalia? She suffered so much the last time."

Russia's face sadly gloomed. His eyes shifted to Ukraine, seeing her sweet innocent eyes in tears broke his heart. "It's what I'm good at, sister. What else am I supposed to do?" Ukraine was silent. His eyes moved to the Baltic States. They looked more concerned than afraid, like they pity him. No one pities over Russia. Russia is strong and unbending. Anyone who wished Russia to bend the knee will have to break him first. "I am not weak."

"No, sir, you are not." Lithuania said, seeming deep in thought. Russia guest that he must've been troubled as well, Belarus being a good friend of his, and everything. Lithuania's love for Belarus bothered Russia a lot. Toris was undeserving of his sister's hand, for he is not strong enough for her. _But is America?_ Russia's brows met. America is strong, but still undeserving of his sister's love. He is not appropriate. That child-like country will not serve. He will not. _He is unworthy of her love any worse than I am. _

A soft, caring hand caressed his arm. "You can always talk to her, brother." Ukraine's voice soothing. "Maybe you should be thinking less like Russia, and think more like Ivan. The answer is always within your heart. Just search for it."

"How am I to do that?" Russia grunted. "We should start talking about ways to get our sister back! She's with that American at the moment. We need to hurry before he turns her against us."

Ukraine sighed. "Maybe I should slam the truth on your face, brother. After all, I know you and Natalia more than you know yourselves."

* * *

The soft texture of the fabric was gentle around Belarus' fingers as she fuddled with the skirt. She looked unjustifiably ridiculous today. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks pale, her lips dry. The ghost of a girl she was, was clothed in rich Prussian blue silk and thick black velvet that was supposed to make her look lovely, instead it drowned her beauty. She looked so much like an elegant corpse, only breathing.

The dress itself was stunningly beautiful. It was off-shoulder, lacy on top, and frilly and thick on the skirt. It was a 19th century-inspired dress that America gave her. It was blue and black, her favorite colors, with a large white bow on the chest. It fit her preference, though it did not fit her petite frame.

"Oh c'mon, Bela," America placed a hand on her bare shoulder. "Don't frown so much. We can fix the fitting. It'll be done in a moment."

"No, it won't. The party's a day after tomorrow." She walked toward the window, away from him. "It will do."

"Only the perfect dress will suit a beautiful lady like you, Bela." America awkwardly laughed when she coldly remained unresponsive. "I mean…you can outshine any dress, Bela. You can go naked in the ball, and still look beautiful."

She made a deep growling in her throat and pierced a sharp look at him. "What did you say?"

America took a step back, blushing. "I mean nothing perverted! I swear!"

She turned her head sharply, forgetting and almost not caring, for she was deep within the depths of her thoughts.

America frowned. "I…was only trying to say that you look beautiful in any clothes, Bela." He let the moments come and go, enduring painfully long awkward minutes between them. All the time, trying to come up what to say to this lonely girl. "Please, cheer up, Bela."

Belarus locked her hands together in annoyance. Why won't America just understand that she doesn't need him to cheer her up? In fact, nothing in this world will ever cheer her up. The party was a lame excuse he had, trying to get a glimpse of her smile once more. She eyed the invitation in the glass table beside her, trying to sink in her thoughts deeper, just thinking what might happen in two days. She pictured the tall French man, clad in white suit, welcoming her to his party. It was a party of no special occasion, just a simple celebration of the succession of the French economy. Of course, simple was never a word for France. She imagined a classical band, playing sweet love songs, a huge hall, pretty red roses and a sophisticated evening with the other nations. Even her brother will be there—possibly. He doesn't usually attend parties out of Russia for nothing worthwhile, but still she worries of his possible presence on that night. And what will she do when she sees him?

_Just pretend you don't see him. Pretend that you hate him._

"Bela…hello…? Bela!" America strained for her attention.

_No, he won't attend_, she thought. He already trashed his invitation a month ago, complaining about the long awful flight to France, and the sight of foreign and local lovers in Paris streets. Of course, Belarus did not plan to go as well, knowing her brother will not be there. But wouldn't it be nice? _Paris, the city of love, just brother and I…_ She shook her head to perish the thought.

Now, she found herself agreeing to come. It was only because of Ukraine's pleads, and maybe it will take her mind off Russia.

"You know, I could stay behind if you don't want to come, Bela."

She shook her head again. "No, it will be fun, da?" her voice did not agree with her words. It was shallow and half-hearted and sad. America did not need to guess who she was thinking of.

"Let's grab something to eat before heading to the airport, okay?" he walked closer to the pale girl, placing a hand on her shoulder and slid it down her back, unzipping the dress. "Hurry up and change, I'll get the luggage." He was tempted to kiss her porcelain shoulder right then, but he knew he would only be allowed to do so in his dreams, so he just sighed and left her the room. _Ah, Bela, you're turning me out of character. _America smiled and kept the thought to himself.

* * *

**It is a scary world to live in. The years had gone by; the second war is finally over. Now I don't have to worry about the smell and feel of war. Nevertheless, I remember it vividly—the smell of thick intoxicating smoke, the fresh smell of blood, the battle cries and the weeping of comrades, children and lovers. I still can't believe that I lived through it all and here I am, still standing so majestically. I feel protected within the walls of the Soviet Mansion, with the company of my friends and family offering me love.**

"What is this?" Russia held the leather-bound book, the pages brittle and yellow with age. He turned the next page, reading once more the words written in beautiful cursive letters.

**It's been long when I last opened this book. It only means that I have an experience I want to record within these pages. It could be sad, or happy, as long as it has a memorable impact to me. And today, something had happened. It is a wonderful feeling, for I am in love! It took me years, starting from my childhood to realize a simple fact—that I'm so much in love with a man. I imagine the romance and the happy endings in the books I had read. Wouldn't it be great, to love and be loved? To kiss and hug and all that? Yes, it would. I've fallen for a brave, strong man—smart handsome man. I couldn't ask for anyone else in this world, but him. I love him. I love Ivan, my brother.**

"It is the book I gave sister right after we defeated the Axis." Ukraine touched the paper, the edge crumbling into dust with her touch. "It used to be white and blank, and I told sweet Natalia that she would write her own book, her own story. I never saw that book until august 1991. She left it in her old room, the only thing she did not bring with her."

"It is her journal?" Russia turned to the next page, eager to read more.

**Is it wrong to love your own brother? I was so happy, so sweet and composed, when I thought everything will be fine. I told my brother that I love him, and he just laughed at me. It hurt, to be laughed at, a simple gesture of rejection. I won't let that stop me. I love him! I love him! I will make him mine someday.**

"Ivan, I think you shouldn't look at the next pages." Ukraine gestured for him to give the diary, instead he turned and kept flipping from page to page. "Ivan!"

"_'Why is it wrong? Love does not take any exceptions, does it?_'" Russia read the words. "_Anna Karerina did it. I'll do anything for the sake of love._'"

"Russia, you should stop!"

The next pages where stained with liquid drops. _Teardrops_. Russia kept reading every page, finally understanding Belarus' point of view. **I told him again, and he rejected me. **He tapered into his memories, remembering the earlier days of Belarus' affection towards him. He thought she was only jesting, then she started getting serious, and she started to freak him out. **I cried myself to sleep every night, knowing that he would not return my feelings towards him.**

"Why?"

**…because I love him. Why else?**

"Belarus, you never cry."

**…but I do cry. I never let them know. I do it in the black of the night, sobbing on my pillow, clawing my fingers on my chest where I feel my heart beating in agony. It left brutal scars on my skin, reflecting the ones on my heart.**

Ukraine took the book from Russia's hands, tearing a few pages. "Russia, no—don't read those!"

A few brown pages were in his hands, tore up in uneven shapes. He scanned them, and he realized there were dark brown stain drops on the paper, some smudged by thin fingertips. They used to be red stains, now faded to brown. They were blood.

**83 times. 83 times! One bullet in six barrels, and it didn't kill me after trying 83 times! Maybe it will be much better with a knife, with one swift cut around my throat and that's it.**

**I thought brother would ban me from stepping a foot in this star-spangled land! I thought he'd plead me to stay. Now I'm trapped in this country, and**… the page was torn. Russia turned to the next one on his hands.

**Alfred had stopped me again. What is it to him if I kill myself? It will even spare him some burden of taking care of me. All I want from him is a proper burial, but he refused, knocking off the gun from my hand, and tried to do the same with my knife, however it slid on his collar bone, spilling red on these pages. His blood mingled with mine…**

The last page on his hand had fallen lightly to the floor. He accidentally let one of previous pages away just to retrieve the last one he hadn't read.

**I woke up seeing red. Then slowly my eyes came to focus, revealing the handsome face of my American host looking down at me. He regarded me cautiously, half worried, half hoping. "Bela…?" That's what he'd call me. Of many times I forbid him to use, he still won't listen. And now I kind of like it. A sweet name, an endearment. I liked how he always repeats it many times in a sentence whenever he talked to me. "Bela, are you okay, Bela? Are you awake?"**

**All I could do was give a nod.**

**He smiled, hugged me, and let his tears fall…like I'm sort of a friend. I could feel his body relax in a way of relief. "Never do something like that, Bela! Promise me."**

**All I could do was give a nod. After all, it was all I could do. The pain still hurt vividly from the fall.**

Russia mercilessly crumpled the pages left on his hands. "This doesn't make any sense, sister!" he threw the pages at Ukraine, each falling lightly on the floor. "I do not understand. What is she talking about?"

* * *

"More," Alfred demanded for his cup to be filled with Whiskey, and so the bartender obliged. Round after round he pursued, still managing to keep his mind straight.

The male countries gathered impatiently in the ballroom, talking or drinking to kill time while they wait for the ladies to arrive and the party to start. They even so refused to wear the masks France provided, telling that they would only then garb it when the party would take place. Alfred agreed with them, for the masks made them look uneasy and awkward. They already know each other, why bother even setting up a masquerade?

However, that won't stop France from throwing one. Known for his sophisticated culture, it was expected of him. America would prefer something less on the sophisticated side, and more on the carefree thing, like the parties he held at home.

"Sir, I think you had enough," the young bartender commented, aware of the quantity Alfred had consumed.

"Tch." Alfred gulped down his cup vigorously.

"He's right, America," France said as he crept up from behind while holding a precious red rose in his gloved hand, which he handed to a female bartender next to him. He was clad in a white suit and a red bowtie while his blonde hair was pulled neatly behind, giving him the sophisticated look he always radiated. "The party hadn't yet started. Reserve some for later when the ladies are here."

"I do what I want."

France sighed, letting the matter pass. "So how is Miss Belarus?"

America brought the glass to his lips and stopped midway to think about France's question. Finally, he settled it down to the table, his lips curling into a frown. "She's… good."

France raised an eyebrow while taking a seat beside Alfred. "Is she…? Are you?"

America thought hard of his answer. What was he to tell about her? Nothing much changed after all. She would still cry every night during her sleep and wake in the middle of night, calling for her brother. Alfred would comfort her after waking up to her silent sobbing, but she would hate it whenever he would. She would hate it when he would try to help her, for it makes her feel weak and desperate, but in truth, Alfred was the one desperate to win her friendship. Earning her trust and friendship was a difficult stage, _much less winning her love_. And as the nightmares come, she would secretly cry miserably. As the hero, he would've done something about it, but Belarus would still refuse him to be there for her. She refused him as her hero.

All he could do was pretend he was asleep, listening to her cries, breaking his heart every time.

"She misses him."

"I'm not surprised," France whispered loud enough for Alfred to hear.

Of course, it was stupid of him to think that he could be her hero, to try and make her move on from her unrequited love towards Russia. Yet at least he could try. After all, how could he just let a country be in distress without even bothering to help? He was the hero, no matter what. He just wished he was _her_ hero.

Alfred emptied his cup. "I don't know how to help her."

France grinned, despite America's gloom. "You could always offer her options."

"Options…?"

France nodded. "She thinks that no one loves her. Russia would always be there for her but—not always enough for her. I could empathize with him, though. But Miss Belarus needs to consider other options. She's a beautiful maiden, made from the finest features. She only needs someone to love her and love back. I wouldn't normally interfere with these cases, but… I just can't resist myself when the moment is getting amusing."

"What do you mean… options?"

"Are all Americans as dense as you?" France stated in disbelief. "I intend to inform you that one way you could help is by offering her the love she deserves. Marry her, if you must. But for this plan is to work, you must understand that it requires your emotional cooperation. Are you willing to love her?"

"Already have." America answered without the slightest hesitation as he refilled his cup.

"I'm not surprised." France smirked. "Are you willing to try?"

"Already have."

"Are you willing not to surrender?"

He paused to think about for a moment. "I… think so," Alfred indicated an uncertain answer.

"Jones! I thought you said you were the hero—even though I still think that would be a ridiculous idea... yet a self-proclaimed hero nonetheless! Heroes never give up, no?"

Alfred did not respond, for the answer was clear enough to the both of them. They knew that Alfred won't give up on a friend. Although he had other plans for Natalia, still, she's currently a friend. _Currently_—and he wished he can change that. After all, the hero always gets the leading lady.

Suddenly, the room darkened, and was only lighted by five chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The room was large and crowded, and the lights had not been sufficient to provide enough light to tell each person apart. Only later did Alfred realize that it was done on purpose.

"What's going on?"

"QUICK! EVERYONE PUT YOUR MASKS ON!" France announced gleefully.

And so, the men obliged. Excitement filled the room, the men eager to see the ladies in their pretty dresses. Alfred moved his way up front, pushing guests out of his way as the ladies emerged from the red curtain. They were lined up in two, positioning themselves on the stage. Their faces were hidden in colorful feathery masks, while their hair is concealed with a dark veil, so the color isn't to be identified.

Alfred searched for Natalia in her blue gown.

He wouldn't admit it, but he cheated. The whole point of the masquerade was for their identities to remain hidden. When he bought that dress for Bela, he had already committed it. He wasn't supposed to know Bela, or the dress she was wearing, and with that done, he'll be able to recognize her with effortlessness. Well, now that he sees her in that gown, he'll quickly come up to her before any other guy would, and he will ask her for a dance.

It seemed unjustifiable, but he couldn't help it. He would be thrilled to dance with her! The only problem is where is she…?

_Where are you, Bela_? America thought. She wasn't coming out of the curtain. He waited for the girl in the blue dress, while having to pay no attention to the others in elegant dresses. She came in last, but that wasn't a problem. Alfred was happy enough she attended.

The ladies descended the stage, and male countries were already asking their preference on a dance. America ran his way to the base of the stage, waiting for Bela. He approached her gallantly, imitating France's behavior when it came to socializing. He bowed and kissed her hand, shyly managing words to be vocalized. "May I have this dance, My Lady?"

The color of her eyes seemed to have changed due to the dim lights that the room held. She nodded and took his arm as he led her to the middle of the dance floor.

The way her lips formed a smile made Alfred swoon. Somehow he found himself staring at the structure of her lips. They appear fuller and wider, probably because of her peach lipstick. At the feel of her hand on his shoulder, made him want it placed against his cheek instead. It seemed magical, the way they danced at the pace of sweet music, the way they would stare at each other's eyes.

"H-Hey Bela…" Alfred started. "I know you can tell it's me. Yeah, I just want to say that you look absolutely pretty in that dress."

She smiled.

"Heh, you actually smiled at one of my compliments… cool. I see that the fit on your dress has been fixed…which is good…"

She won't speak, but she would put a smile every minute or so. What would make Bela smile so much? Something feels a little off, but at least Bela would be happy. America lives for her smiles, anyhow. Why ruin a perfect moment?

A man bumped softly into Alfred's back while dancing with his partner. "Sorry," the man said in monotone then quickly focused his attention to back his girl.

"No problem, Dude," Alfred replied, as he turned his head to face him.

The man had pale platinum hair, a tall stance, and a drop-dead scary aura. He spun his partner, a shorter girl with a black diamond mask and a fabulous red gown. For a strange unknown reason, Alfred seemed attracted to the girl, possibly because of her elegant clothes.

She wore a scarlet and black gown that hung tightly around her chest, complimented by a black diamond chocker around her neck. The top part was designed with black laces, and thin red ribbons that was obviously a product of magnificent fabric work. The skirt was tight and short, red and lacey and showing off her white flawless legs, while added with a long heavy train, ribbons and lace complimenting each other.

She danced gracefully with the man she's with, however the black veil fell from her head to the polished marble floor whilst she twisted, reveling her long, pale, blond hair…

She stopped suddenly, as she turned her head to look back at Alfred's direction and frowned. She sighed unrequitedly, pulling her hands free from her partner's touch, turned leisurely and walked away.

"Wait," the man called and hurried after the mysterious lady in red.

Alfred faced Belarus once more, after the man was out of sight. "You're not who I think you are, right?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not."

* * *

The pointy heels of Natalia's shoes sank down the soil, as she tried to run, to run and hide, to hide and cry. She retreated deeper in the gardens, not looking back to see he was behind her. It was dark, and none of the lanterns were on and glowing. She depended only to the stars and the bright silvery moon to guide her way to somewhere, somewhere safe, somewhere she can be alone and away from him.

On one point, she trips over unseen roots and started to fall on the ground. What she didn't know that Ivan was closely behind, close enough to catch her midway as she falls, her dress almost touching the ground. He held her there, held her close and embraced her, his arms almost suffocating her as they grew tighter and tighter around her body.

"I can't believe you would run from me, Natalia!" Ivan bellowed, with voice stern yet suddenly breaks at the diction of her name.

Belarus was inert and shaken aback. She could feel his warmth soothing against the cold breezes, welcoming and tantalizing, yet it didn't deceive her enough to fully forget her throbbing broken heart. "What I can't believe is that you would expect me to be a loyal little sister to you after what you've done to me?" she heatedly complained. "I hate you!"

Ivan released her slowly, staring at her in disbelief. "Sister? H-hate me?" His hands slid up her arms, heavy upon her shoulders. "I thought…you loved me!"

She slapped him.

He placed his hand gently on his stinging cheek where she struck him, eyes hidden behind a curtain of hair. He pulled her to his chest, declining her continual insolence, as she struggled. With his free hand, he cupped her cheek, descending down to her chin and pulling her face up to meet her alluring purple eyes.

"I never liked you being with Jones. Now look at what he'd done to you!" Ivan exclaimed. "He's turned you against me!"

"No," Natalia contradicted. "You turned me against you, remember? All I ever wanted was to be with you, yet you disputed! I'm giving you what you want, now off with you!" her lips curled down, her grimace showing.

"Natalia_…_I'm sorry."

As much as she wanted to forgive him, to love him again, she just couldn't. She realized that she can't ever go back to what things used to be. After several nights of nightmares, she was convinced that loving him again won't take her anywhere. She'll only get hurt once more, and make a fool of herself again. She can't take the risk no more, after all…Alfred is here for her now—at least she hopes so.

The thought of Alfred Jones sent her a nostalgic emotion, a longing sensation. She wanted him there, to save her and take her away from her brother. She would never admit, but she developed a trust and a sense of dependence towards him. She won't consider him as her hero, or a hero in general, for a childish and frivolous man like him is not justifiable for the title of a hero.

Yet she could use one right now.

She stared at Ivan's deceiving purple eyes, his furrowed brows, and his grimaced lips—the face of what her hero used to be. "Please, just leave me be."

"No," Ivan whispered. "I want you back home, Sister."

"No!"

"Give me one good reason, Natalia!" He shook her shoulders, and his anger quickly dissolving, as he saw how she loathed his action. "I'm sorry…"

They heard a distant shuffling in the bushes nearby, indicating that someone might possibly be witnessing them. Russia, being aggravated, took Natalia's hand and led her deeper in the gardens, entering a stone maze—a labyrinth with crumbling brick walls seven feet tall. Russia led her, roughly dragging her, deeper and deeper inside, not caring if they would find the way back.

"Let go of me!" Belarus put a show of a threatening voice.

"Not unless you agree to come home with me, Sister!"

Their argument went on until the time they reached the heart of the maze. Iron fences covered across the perimeter, showing a dry fountain, a rusty bench, and bushes of red roses with colors faded in the darkness of the night.

The gate opened as Russia pushed it gently, disturbingly creaking as it moved. Russia's grip on his sister's hand tightened, afraid that she might break free any moment. He led her through, yet she suddenly stopped at her tracks, pulling Russia aback.

Belarus could sense that there was something gravely wrong about the situation. There she was, her hand being held by her beloved, wanting her. Ivan wants her back home with him, where she would be safe and comforted. There she was, living the dream, the dream that her brother would finally notice her, want her, desire her company. She should be happy, but she couldn't let herself be. Something unknown was pulling her back, keeping her heart sore, manipulating her mind to hesitate his pleads. She wanted to go with him, finally have peace, and yet, she found it harder to trust him now, than to trust Alfred—a man who remained almost a stranger to her. Her obsession with Ivan somehow felt…confusing. It wasn't for her character to reject him—like there was a disclaimer who rewrote her entire personality for sake of a show of entertainment.

Somehow she felt guilt. She can see her brother in distress, in restlessness, and she is the root of it all and yet she couldn't bring herself to stop it. She realized she wasn't angry anymore, just hurt and confused. Why does it have to feel painful with his absence, as it is when he is present?

"Let me go home, brother." She touched his hand holding her other, squeezing it meaningfully, and keeping her eyes down.

"Sister, you don't know what I'll do just to get you back home."

"That's not what I meant." She raised her eyes shyly, sensing an unfamiliar emotion in Russia's eyes. He presented his face as his eyes softened, his brows meeting, his mouth breathing in and out air anxiously. His eyes, those electrifying orbs of violet, looked as if any moment they would tear. Abstractedly, Natalia raised her hand to stroke his cheek. "You wanted me stop loving you. I meant to give you what you want, for you to be happy—but how come you disagree with my actions now? Don't you want your happiness?"

Russia slid his fingers through hers on the hand she had on his cheek. "If it means taking away yours, then I wouldn't."

"Either way, I'll get hurt…probably much more as what I feel right at this moment…so much more. But one day, I'll recover…hopefully."

"Natalia…"

"Tell me true brother," Belarus inched closer. "Did you really mean all the things you said to me?"

His only answer was silence.

Belarus could feel his grip loosen and took the opportunity to break free of his hold. "Why am I even asking you this when the answer isn't at all obscure?" She sighed. She waited for him to respond, waited until he would speak. Yet for a number of minutes, he stood unblinking, unsure of what to do next.

"Don't you ever bother me again, Russia." She turned and started to walk away, yet she had her hand caught again by his grip, pulling her to face him.

"I'm sorry, Natalia…" Ivan began. "I'm sorry that I always end up hurting you. Sister, please come back with me…_please_."

She wiped her tears from her eyes, messing her make-up, yet she didn't care. She put on a stern face which she had already missed. Lately, she was out of her character, feeling weak and depressed, but now she just wanted to be strong for herself—to not let her feelings get ahead of her again. Somehow it feels nice to be her usual, stoic self. "No, I'm staying with Alfred."

"Is that so…?" Russia's voice went dangerously low. "I know that I said some things that night, I know I shouldn't have said them to you…I didn't mean to…"

She waited for him to finish, closely paying him attention.

"I didn't mean to…" _What? Hurt her? _Russia thought_. Of course I knew she'd get hurt…but I didn't think she'll turn her back from me… "_Sister, I'm not thinking things through. It was idiotic for me to do what I did. I couldn't control myself…It was just that I—_"_

_"_I don't want to hear it, Russia._" _Belarus snapped. "Please, just don't say them. You've already gave me so much to think about." She turned around, walking away from him.

Swiftly, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. "Please, think what you want of me, but please stay away from America."

It took her a long pause to reply, her heart hurting each beat. "I know he's an old enemy. But that doesn't mean I will relive the past."

"You're just not safe being in his protection." He would try every excuse, just to make her change her mind, make her believe in him again.

"I don't know about that…but I'm certain that the situation would be the same with you." She held back tears that are just eager to fall. "Alfred finds my company pleasurable, and he is a good man and…I just can't trust you anymore."

And all hell broke loose.

"BELARUS!" Russia yelled. "LOOK AT ME!" He turned her body almost harshly, forcing her to face him. "You can't stay with America!" He shook her shoulders. "I don't want you getting yourself influenced by that bastard!"

"B-Brother…"

"When will you ever listen to me, Belarus? Jones should be the last man you should be with!"

It was a familiar sight. The anger in his purple eyes was too familiar. It was frightening, to be in this situation again. She was shaking, terrified.

"Don't tell me you've develop a liking towards that idiot of a country? Natalia, how can you even tolerate him? Honestly, I expected more from you! He'll turn you into a whore, Sister!"

"He's not what you think he is!"

"Do not give me that excuse, Natalia. He's a filthy low-life American!"

Belarus raised her voice at him. "Have you ever even tried to look at yourself?"

A sudden, involuntary strike across her face made her gasp sharply. Russia's heart skipped a beat in horror. He'd done it once again, and it felt like his guilt was swallowing him whole, intoxicating his sanity. He agonizingly watched her place a hand on where he'd slapped her, hiding her face beneath her hair. She was unresponsive, as she was motionless. "S-Sister…I didn't mean to…" He stepped closer to her and tried embracing her. "I-I'm sorry—"

She unsheathed her knife that she hid under her skirt the entire time, pointing it at Russia's throat. "You're not the Ivan I used to love…" She harshly broke free from his embrace, gave him one last lonely look from her moistly purple eyes, and left abruptly.

She started to run, taking random turns, praying that none of the paths would bring her back to the heart of the maze. She kept running and running, passing the same paths for a period of time. Her tears that finally fell from her eyes obscured her vision, yet she didn't stop. She would turn to the darkest path, hoping that it would lead her somewhere away from her brother.

Her feet got tired from running with the most inappropriate shoes, and she let herself sank to the ground, crying loudly under the beautiful night sky that seemed to have been mocking her. The dusty, uneven pavement felt irritating to her skin, and seemed to have soiled her elegant dress. She didn't care about her skin or her dress, much less about her dignity. It would be the same as attending the ball naked.

She had to remind herself that she was the Republic of Belarus. She had to stay strong for her people's sake. She needs to get over her emotional situation and deal with the important facts…like…like…

_Curse this life,_ Belarus mentally shrieked. She couldn't even straighten her mind and focus on the things that needed be done. She can't remember what she should be remembering—her country, her people, her government. She'd been corrupting herself with Russia, even influencing her people to forget their native language, replacing it with Russian.

Now look at where she is, the mighty Belarus, crying like a frightened child.

What is worse is that she couldn't stop.

Footsteps—she heard footsteps! She panicked. She doesn't want Russia to see her messed up like this. The sounds were getting closer, as she managed to rise. On the path to her left, she saw Russia's silhouette, getting dangerously closer to where she stood.

"No." She started to walk fast, taking the path on her right, trying to lose Russia behind.

"Wait—Bela!" He called.

_B-Bela…? Russia never called me that… _she thought_. _She turned, running back to where she once stood, only to find Alfred Jones staring at her breathlessly.

She couldn't actually explain it, but she was relieved to see him. She liked how he had removed his mask and presented his beautiful blue eyes behind that spotless pair of glasses. She liked how he smiled at her, like he was always happy to see her—that he was welcoming her unlike no one had ever done.

"Ah, Bela! Where had you gone to?" He smiled at her, yet that smile quickly faded as he saw the agony behind her mask.

Belarus ran to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders which took the both of them in surprise. She silently whispered an apology, which Alfred immediately shrugged off. Awkwardly, he encircled her waist with his arms, returning the gesture. She would feel her back jerk as if she was crying on his shoulder, as she buried his face on his neck.

"Did he hurt you again, Bela?" He tried to tone his voice lower, trying to sooth her even though he was a bit angered by the thought that Russia had made her cry like this again, to think that he had already done so much damage yet didn't had enough.

She remained silent, sobbing quietly on his shoulder. Somehow she found Alfred's touch comforting and inviting. He had been a wonderful host to her, and she wouldn't deny that his friendship would be immensely treasured. She needed someone to be with, someone to talk to, someone to distract her from the pain she was feeling. "Just to seeing his face again hurts me so much."

"Bela, you know I'm always here for you," Alfred told her. "Please, don't let him ruin you."

She sobbed more loudly this time, uncaring that someone else is witnessing her moment of weakness.

Alfred had to restrain himself upon losing his temper. He saw a dark figure, leaning on a wall beside them, obscurely concealed in the shadows. He fixed his eyes on him, as Alfred could feel unseen eyes watching them with wrath.

"He has no right to hurt you, Bela." Alfred addressed the lonesome lady in his arms, yet the message was for Russia as well. "He's your big brother, he should protect you, and yet he made you cry. He doesn't deserve your love, Bela."

Only at that moment had Ivan Braginski realized that it was stupid of him to complain so many times before that no one loves him, when he knew first hand that someone had. It was painful to lose the only person who had truly loved him and turned out to have resented him—just like everybody else.

And in the end, he could only watch them, let his heart break as he witness his sister's devotion for his rival. He was never good enough—he was the monster he always thought he was, harming the people so close to him.

So it was true that you'd never learn to appreciate something you have until you lose it.

-end of chapter two-

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**I'm so lazy to edit and check for errors in this story, sorry about that.**

**NO offense to Americans out there, I was only trying to make Russia sound that he hates America.**

**Any suggestions on what I should write on the next chapter?**

**Please review. Russia will haunt your dreams if you don't~**

**Or maybe not 'cause you'll probably like that (I know I would) ;D**

**_ So much of Russia in this chapter, expect more of America on the next (yay) :3_**


	3. Chapter 3

**I inserted certain scenes that refer to the past, just so you won't get confused. The story is kind of nonlinear, meaning I could jump from past to present. It's like flashback after flashback.**

** I was trying to describe Alfred's feelings, but I don't think I made a good job. Emotions are just hard to summarize down in words.**

**Anyway, please review. I'd love it when you do. **

**Italicized + double quotations means a dialogue that was said in the past. I did it so it doesn't sound so confusing. I know that's not the right way to write, but…**

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-chapter three-

He watched her unconsciously lying on the bed, pale as a corpse, but her lush pink lips and steady breathing indicates that she was unmistakably alive and healthy, much to America's pleasure. He covered her body with the silk quilt as she mumbled a foreign word under her breath as he tucked her in the sheets.

Her short red gown was untidily hung on the bed post, while the heavy long train or extension of the dress carelessly decorated as a heap on carpeted floor. A single lampshade lighted the room, which America was hesitant to put off, by then, he wouldn't be able to see her angelic face.

He let out a sigh of relief, knowing that she was able to sleep soundly, despite the bothersome events that happened earlier that evening. Of course, a little vodka had helped, it was inevitable, but she was able to forget about Russia for a while which America was already thankful for. He only needs to worry about what will happen the next morning.

Ironically, while she was sleeping so soundly, while he was not. He insisted to stay at her hotel room, afraid that she might hurt herself without him having any knowledge of it. The unsheathed knife on the bedside table was enough proof that she had attempted. A few drops of blood had stained the ivory sheets, blood that was shed for her to stop.

America rubbed his bandaged hand, pressing his thumb hard on his palm and soon enough fresh blood had stained through the white cloth. A little cut was nothing to him, of course. After years of wars and battles, after harsh experiences of pain and suffering, he hardly cared. Encounters that left scars on his body, on his lands. Some had already faded yet few remain visible. Though he'd wished he had kept those scars, as a reminder of his failures, accomplishments, and mishaps; he was thankful enough that they had faded, at least the ones on his lands.

Gently, he unwrapped the bandage. Once again he saw the red throbbing cut across his palm. He sat up the bed and brushed his fingers through his hair, as he started to think.

"_Just leave me alone_!" Belarus' words were swimming though his mind, reviving the past. "_I know you hate having me for company and you shouldn't even try to be nice to me if don't really want to_!"

1992. He remembered her crying, crystal tears dripping down her cheeks, falling on his neck. "Please, just leave!" She tried to push him away, and to no avail, she retreated. "_I understand why you don't want to hurt my emotions, but please, just walk away. I will not take offense—please, just free me and go back to your usual wonderful self, because… you haven't been yourself lately. I'm a burden and I don't want to cause any more problems, so please, let me go and leave me here. Just do what you'd rather do_…"

"_But I am! I want to be with you, Bela_! _Why can't you accept the truth_?" He remembered how warm she felt against his skin, how her body relaxed and how it started to accept the foreign touch. How the relieving sound of the metal knife clanging to the floor had felt.

America laughed a little remembering that scene from the past. He stood up, unable to sleep. He walked toward the windows and opened the curtains. The breathtaking of view of Paris at night overwhelmed his thoughts. Paris was so nice, and it would be fun if he could actually take Bela around the city. It's not like he'd never toured around Paris before, in fact he and a group of friends went here for countless times, but he never actually took a girl out _yet_...

He looked back to check on Natalia, a radiant creature with soft platinum locks quietly sleeping between the sheets seeming so innocent and angelic. It would be nice to take her around the world, but knowing her, a cold and distant person, must be hard to persuade. _Why must Europeans be so… _different?

"_You're weird_," Belarus once told him.

He couldn't agree more. But he was of course, America! What would he be if he was not the way he is right now? The way Bela had said those words had been soft, and her voice indicated that what she said was not stating something negative, but rather, almost a compliment. It was already good enough for America, who smiled like a complete idiot hearing those words from her.

"_Your Western food looks unhealthy… how could you feed your people with such poison_?" She said those words once, having the first time to try eating a burger, and though when she took a bite, she smiled—a quick upward curl of her lips which quickly faded, yet a smile nonetheless. "_A Mcdonalds recently opened in Russia. I never would've understood why so many people were eager to take a bite of this… sandwich_. "

"_Eh…? Don't you think my food is delicious_?" He had said, whining between bites. "_Dude_, _I find it hard to resist_!"

She frowned. "_Well, it is tempting_… _and maybe that is the same way brother had felt when he let this fast food restaurant invest on his country_."

Her world revolved around Ivan Braginski, from most of the twentieth century, carrying the habit until the twenty-first. It was unhealthy, and soon it was able to corrupt her. When Belarus had been under America's protection, way back in the 1990s, he watched her misery along with her confusion and tried to repair the damage of what her love had done. He was determined to do so, to help her, to completely cut the string that connects her to Ivan. Yet she tangled herself with that string, so it was almost impossible to break free. He was certain, that Ivan had attempted to cut the string several times in the past, to free himself from her demeanor. Yet she would tie it tightly around his fingers, forcing the string to fate them together.

_Anything with a foundation not strong enough will collapse._

And so, it did.

Belarus at this time had let go of the string that she has with Ivan, yet tables were turned and Ivan was the one holding her back. It was never easy to move on, that America knew so painfully well. He could understand Bela's remains of love towards her brother. He just hoped that she'll be able to let go, even if it takes almost as long as forever to finish the process. He was just worried about the possibility that she might never move on from her unhealthy position—never to move on like Alfred.

If only she would notice the red string on her other hand, the string that would lead her to her true love, yet to where, America unfortunately did not know.

A few people who knew of his love for Belarus had asked him of what made him fall for her—an Ice Queen that she is.

"_Because she thinks I'm an idiot…" _He trailed off, never finished.

They would laugh, saying, "_Everyone thinks and knows that you are, Alfred!_"

They thought it was because of her breathtaking beauty, though they were right, but it wasn't exactly the reason of why he fell for her. Theories were exclaimed, one saying that he had a masochistic side, and so Belarus would be the perfect partner. America only laughed at each guess that his friends would make, none having the correct answer.

Somehow, the thought of Russia's acts earlier that evening had entered America's train of thoughts. How could he, as Bela's brother, could withstand to persist on bothering her, hurting her, reopening the wounds that Alfred had tried so hard to stitch back? He knew well of Russia's capabilities, his strengths, his charms, his bloodlust anger—and America envied him. How could Ivan Braginski effortlessly make the perfect woman to fall in love with him head over heels?

America felt anger. Not only because Ivan had hurt Bela, or had he plan to declare war, yet also of the fact that he was too dense to see what was always in front of him. There she was, ready for him to take her, yet he would never bother to look at her, never understanding the beauty she held. If he would've just accepted her love towards him, then Bela would be smiling and laughing, rather than frowning and crying. Though Alfred knew that the sight of them being happy together would hurt so much… yet, at least Bela would be happy. He was the hero, after all. He was warned of the consequences of sacrifice, to be a part of his responsibilities for the better good of the world—of Bela.

He considered that Russia may not be as big as a villain he thought he was, after all, Bela had loved him. There must be something about him that made her fall, something that made her crave for his company, for his love. Knowing him, a quiet, distant person, someone who likes to put himself above others (well… America couldn't blame him), someone who was likely to be a prey, yet turns out to be the world's deadliest predator. Alfred tried to see his bad side, his side that he knew Bela does not deserve, yet, he couldn't completely ignore his good ones, those qualities he knew Bela had loved.

That night when he witnessed Natalia crying, in that conference room, that time when Russia had followed her, in the verge of crying as well. He noticed his concern for his sister, his guilt that was killing him. The way he had protested of America's offer, his offer that Belarus would stay with him. The way he had let her go, the way that he didn't force her to refuse, that he let her go in her own free will—it was enough evidence that he was a good brother. He remembered the way Russia had kissed Belarus' forehead, an affectionate as well as sincere gesture. He remembered his piercing violet eyes as they flare up at America.

He was only trying to protect his sister all this time_. He loved her_. There was a possibility that he's starting to fall for his sister now, now that she was with his rival—Alfred Jones.

Alfred had feared for that, for the possibility that he might interpret his brotherly love for Belarus as a different one. That Russia might realize a romantic perception of his sister—by then, Alfred knew he had to give up, for Bela's sake.

_"You must understand, Natalia, I am always here for you._" Russia had said to Bealrus. _"I will protect you from those who wish to harm you and be your solid foundation, but all that process can be done without tying knots. I can't marry you, Natalia. I'm sorry I cannot return your love. Just don't ask again, my answer will always be the same. I will never marry you. Please, calm down and understand."_

Alfred wasn't sure if that would remain the same. Natalia's a beautiful woman, charming and interesting and absolutely worth dying for. He wanted to keep her all for himself, yet he didn't know how to make her his, and only his. Russia had her all to himself before, yet he let her slip off his fingers so casually. He may take her back, away from Alfred's hold, and he'll do it swiftly and effortlessly, being the sweetheart he is that she so dearly loves.

"_Jones, just don't take my sister away from me, you understand_?" said Russia that night in New York.

A huge part of his conscience was telling him that he should never let Belarus fall the hands of Russia again. Not after what he did, whatever it was. The way she would cry and stroke her own cheek in dismay, might've meant that Russia had struck her. It was an unforgivable gesture. He was the mighty Russia, and her brother. How could he strike a lady, even more a sister? She considered him as _her_ hero, the title Alfred would die for to earn.

"That lucky bastard," America murmured, absentmindedly punched the wall beside him, therefore receiving pain from his cut, making a loud noise that made Belarus stir in her sleep.

_Oh no, _America thought. _I'm an_ _idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot_!

He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had completely forgotten about her presence. He watched her half-awake gestures as she sat up, hugging a pillow tight against her chest. Her blond hair was a tousled mess, strands sticking up in a weird way, and her bow had hung loosely under her left ear. She looked at him in narrowed and moist purple eyes. She looked like a puppy that was too lazy to wake up.

_She's absolutely cute_, America silently commented, forming a light pink streak across his cheeks.

"A-Alfred…?"

"Sorry, I woke you up, didn't I?" He opened his hand, hidden from Natalia's view, and saw fresh drops of blood dripping from the reopened wound.

She rubbed the sleep from her lilac eyes which she used to stare at him blankly. "What were you doing?"

"N-Nothing…"

She pushed the quilt away, and quickly grabbed a robe to cover herself. "What was that noise?" She made her way towards him, steps shaky. As if she might fall any minute, America met her halfway, letting her body collapse on his chest. She firmly gripped the fabric of his button-down shirt, trying to hold on to him for balance.

She felt a sticky liquid on her hand, which Alfred was holding. She focused her vision on his hand that was placed on top of hers. Slowly, he slid his hand downward to her wrist, and on the back of her palm she saw red stains—blood.

She remembered the little event that had happened earlier that night. Quickly as the memories flooded in, she forced them out, turning her undivided attention to Alfred alone, trying to flush out unwanted emotions out of her heart.

That wound on Alfred's palm—that cut that she'd given him. "I-I'm sorry…" she touched his hand, softly gave the cut a gentle stroke. "I've been a pain, hadn't I?"

"It wasn't your fault, Bela." He smiled his dazzling juvenile smile, almost convincing her that she had done nothing wrong. That smile, those eyes—orbs of electrifying blue that seemed to have penetrated through her body and somewhat found her core, melting her from the inside. She wanted to believe him, that she had nothing to feel guilty about, yet she wouldn't forgive herself if she would forget the things she'd done to Alfred. Horrible things that she did to him—she had stabbed him, slapped him, insulted him, possibly even made him cry. Those horrible things she'd done to him over the years…

She had nothing to feel guilty about at first.

In the 1990s, when she was forced to stay in Alfred's homeland as orders from her leaders, she was this angst person who hated most of the world, cursing her fate, cursing the Land of Freedom and the people who lived in it. She hated how the Americans could smile so gleefully, as if problems and mishaps never existed in their country. She hated that they were given this much freedom to enjoy, so much freedom that could possibly be a burden to the American government, economy and wellbeing. She had come from a Socialist government, and Democracy seemed so foreign to her. These undisciplined people, these Americans, they seem to be weak, divided, and disorganized. The Western culture, the liberated acts they could do in public, it seemed so wrong to her. Why would Alfred Jones even think Democracy can be of a better government, than hers? She had nothing against the citizen's rights and the freedom they held, however such undisciplined culture can be harmful to the country in general.

Though what was she to do about it? This may be for her good. If the Soviet cannot make such a stronghold of the United States to collapse, maybe the citizens themselves could make it possible. She won't ask anything more than that. After all, America was reason why she had to leave her lands and had separated her from her brother and the rest of the Soviet countries. America who had made the dissolution of the USSR possible… he deserved a slow, painful death. If only she could get her hands on him and kill him brutally with her own knives… yet she knew, it was impossible to get his guard down, and doing such ruthless acts against him could lead to another generation of war—and she wouldn't want that. _The last one was stressful enough._

She wondered how Alfred Jones was, and how was he to treat her—an old enemy. She had only saw him a few times, talked to him even fewer, and she not seen him for decades. She bent her mind trying to remember scenes from the past, when she had seen or talked to Alfred. She remembered that bloody battle between the Soviet Union and Germany. She remembered how the Germans crossed her borders, how they had mistreated her people. She remembered the blood on her hands, on her cheeks, on her dress. She remembered killing enemy after enemy, when a man in a strange brown jacket had blocked her way.

"_Comrades, you better stay alive_!" The man in the brown jacket announced, his voice overwhelmed by the gunshots and battle cries. His accent was certainly not German, and she didn't know if he was enemy or not. He held two pistols, firing at the German soldiers. He had his back turned to her the entire time, and from what Belarus was seeing, he seemed to be a good shooter. He was fighting on her side, yet she was unsure of this foreigner. Swiftly, she grabbed his shoulders, pushed him to the dry ground, straddling on him with a knife across his throat.

She waited for him to raise his arms and point the guns at her, yet he remained still, eyeing at her in a bizarre way.

He had cool, blue eyes, contrast against his reddening face. "_Um_," he murmured. "_You must be Russia's sister, right? D-Don't worry, I'm America and I'm fighting on your side!"_

She played that scene from long ago repeatedly in her mind, as she walked around the airport in Washington, dragging her baggage behind her. That scene was from the second war, and it was over now, as well as the Cold War. It was 1991, and she had lost along with her family, and now within the boundaries of the United States. She searched for that familiar blue eyes and sun-kissed streaked blond hair that she had last saw in 1945. It was not long when she spotted that man sitting on a metal bench, his head leaning on the wall beside him, seeming to be asleep.

She walked towards Alfred Jones, trying to come up of a way to wake this carefree man. She took the seat empty space on the bench beside him, and examined this stranger who she was to spend a while with. Somehow, strangely, she felt fear. This was of course, the most powerful country in the world, and she was afraid to wake him up, afraid that she might trouble him and he might hurt her for such an act. So she waited, and waited, for hours it seemed. Until she felt her feel her eyes dropping as well, for the reason that she had absolutely no sleep from the entire flight from Belarus to America, for her thoughts wouldn't allow her such luxury. She hadn't realized her need for sleep, until the time she woke up on the same spot, with her head resting on someone's shoulder.

She sat swiftly and stiffly, that it had surprised the man beside her.

_"Ah! You're awake!" _

Belarus covered her face with her hair and blushed a little, cursing herself for the carelessness. "_I-I'm sorry for troubling you like that._" Her hands shook, fearing of America's possible negative reaction.

Surprisingly for Belarus, America laughed with the sincerest humor. "_It's not a problem, dude. I don't mind at all!"_

She then fixed her eyes with mild confusion to Alfred Jones, and what she saw was a sweet, gentle, and down-to-earth person, unfitting for his great title. Though, deep inside she was thankful that he was a humble and approachable person, rather than the opposite, which she had expected.

The longer the time she had spent with him, the better she knew and understood his beliefs and outlooks towards his country and people.

"_What I want for my people is for them to feel safe and protected, so they won't worry about their lives and wars_." America once told her. "_It's not a good world to live in where life feels like a prison. I want_ _the whole of America to get the satisfaction the country can offer, not just the ones with authority_."

By the time she had to leave America and had to come back home, she felt almost nostalgic and unwilling to depart. Even though the American Government had mistrusted hers, even though their leaders demand them separate, she still can't get over the fact that she was leaving the United States, a place she had already gotten used to.

"_Hey, Bela…"_ America told her before she had to board the plane back to Europe.

"_What is it, Alfred_?" She waited for him to reply until there was made an announcement for the last call to board the flight. "_I have to go_."

"_Wait_!" He grabbed her hand. "_I just wanted to make sure that you won't be suicidal, once I let you go_."

Belarus shook her head. "_I promise I won't_."

"_Great. I expect you to be alive the next time we meet_." He smiled at her. "_Hey Bela… if you ever feel down, you could always give me a call… also, I would never neglect a friend. In fact, I could be your hero, if you would just let me…"_

He was a sweet, adorable person. Yet Belarus knew that Ivan was waiting for her. She doesn't want to leave his side, however it had felt like centuries apart from her brother. _"I don't need a hero,"_ she told him gently. She doesn't want one. She doesn't want someone like him to worry about someone like her. He was just too compassionate, too kind, too humane to get involved in her broken world. _"I'll look forward to seeing you again."_ With those words, she left him.

They would hardly even talk again, after she left for her home. Upon seeing Ivan, she guilty admitted that she had almost forgotten about America. Though every time they would catch each other's eyes, a smile would escape their lips and they would look away just as quick, busy with their own lives. They hadn't had a proper meeting, not until that night in New York, where she had gotten her heart broken by Ivan, and America had come to save her, like the hero he always promised he was.

"Alfred…" Natalia kissed the red cut on his palm, hoping to soothe it. "Maybe that helps? My sister always does that whenever I hurt myself, saying it will make the pain go away."

Alfred smiled at her. "She's right."

"Alfred… I'm so sorry…"

"Bela, I told you, it's just a cut! It was purely accidental!"

"B-Besides that…" She swallowed. "I'm just so sorry…"

"Hmmm? For what?"

"For all those mean things I said and did in the past century."

He laughed. "I could totally understand, Bela. That was immediately after the Cold War. It must be hard for you to completely trust an enemy… and I know you never did, yet even so, I'm thankful."

"Alfred… you were a great friend, before and now, thank you." She looked at feet, unable to look at those gentle blue eyes that makes her feel so guilty.

A sudden gesture had completely taken her by surprise. Heavy hands grasped her shoulders, making her face lift up, only upon seeing his eyes locked with hers, his face closer now. He had a wide smile on his lips, his eyes looking as happy as the one's of a child's after receiving the perfect toy for his birthday.

"_REALLY_?" America blissfully exclaimed, shaking her shoulders. "I was a _friend_? So you actually considered me as a _friend_ before? Whoa, I thought you hated me all the while."

Belarus blushed at his words. "O-Of course you were a friend!"

Again, taking her by surprise, Alfred suddenly wrapped her arms around her, embracing her close to him. "Ha ha! That's good to hear!"

It seemed forever until he let her go. "Hey, Bela!" He held her at arms' length. "Let's sleep now! I'm planning to take you around Paris, since we're already here and we'll probably never get the chance again!" He was talking too fast now, too energetic for the time of the night.

"Around… Paris?" She imagined them walking on the streets of Paris, looking like idiots in love. _It's too embarrassing_, she thought. "I-I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh, c'mon, Bela! _Please_?" He stressed the last word, prolonging the diction, ending up in a soft hiss.

Of course, that pleading voice paired with his irresistible pleading puppy eyes, Natalia found it hard to refuse.

"F-Fine, then…" Her voice was soft as a whisper.

He jumped in childish excitement. "GREAT!" quickly, he jumped on the bed, rolled to one side and patted the space where Belarus should sleep in. "C'mon. We'll have to get up really early for tomorrow!"

His idiotic grinning face had made Natalia laughed. "Alright, you little brat." She made her way to the bed, laid on the space provided, and covered herself with the quilt without even removing her robe.

"Goodnight!" Alfred said gleefully.

"Goodnight."

And the lamp went off just like that.

* * *

As expected, Paris' beauty was breathtaking. What fascinated Natalia most was the architecture, every curve, every small detail, every stone that had been put together to build the perfect Cathedrals, the perfect structures.

"Hey, want to go to the Eifel Tower, Bela?" America sat across the seat from her.

"No, not really. Let's not go there."

"Hmm? Why not?"

"Because they're all probably be there."

She was certain that the other countries were visiting the Eifel tower right at that moment, since they all had the habit of visiting an attraction in the country they had gathered, before leaving back to their respective homes. She feared for the possible presence of her brother, and so she refused Alfred's offer. She had been to that tower before, and there was nothing so special about it but the sight of lovers, foreign and local, being dreadfully affectionate in a public area and no one could judge them. This was the City of Love, Aphrodite's great kingdom.

It would be embarrassing for her to go to the Eifel tower without a lover, another reason why she declined. Countless times she had dreamt of being in that place, hand in hand with Ivan. It was a bitter thought. Her dreams were shattered—all of them. She doesn't know what to do without being attached to her brother, and now she's searching for something to satisfy her obsession with. She thought being spending time in Paris could help her find her answer, yet the city was offering her nothing. She only agreed to smile and pretend to be having fun for Alfred's sake, since he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Aw, shoot." He complained, but his lips were still smiling. It seemed that he didn't care what they would do, or where they would go, just talking and spending time with each other was already enough. That conclusion made Bela feel lighter, like another pound was taken off her shoulders. "Oh, I know, let's eat somewhere fancy. I'm starving! I'll make France give us a rush reservation!"

He instructed the driver of the taxi to take them to a restaurant he knew, somewhere he told her that was nearby. Belarus hoped that the restaurant they were to dine was not as fancy as she imagined, for she certainly hadn't dress up for it.

Alfred was wearing a gray suit and a black tie, a fitting attire for the theme of the city. While she, wearing a short blue dress under her thick black coat. Sure she dressed appropriately, but fashion plays a significant role in France, and she did not want to be judged by the people around her.

"By the way, you look very lovely today, Bela." Alfred commented. _Oh man, w-what am I saying_, he thought. He pretended to look out the car window, just to hide his blushing face, and looked at her through her faint reflection. He guessed that he was just desperate to start a conversation with her, just to eliminate the awkward moments. He was the lamest guy on earth at that moment. He could tell that the driver was constantly glimpsing at them from the mirror and smirking. Okay, so maybe Alfred wasn't the smoothest guy in the world, but being with someone as gorgeous as Natalia, makes him stutter involuntarily, especially with the current situation. He actually persuaded her into hanging out with him in Paris. He wished he had thought everything through. He just didn't realize how awkward it is to hang out with a female _friend_ in the city of love. In different situations, him hanging out with another girl in this city wouldn't actually be any difference to the way he normally acts. Though being with someone you like so badly, and being in the city where love blossoms, and you just cannot make a damn move on the girl, is a really damaging thing on his ego. _Yeah so I'm the lamest hero in the history of lame… so what..?_

"A great monument, da?" Natalia said, quickly unplugging Alfred's daydreaming.

"Huh. What?"

"The Eifel tower."

"Oh... yeah, it is." He didn't realize that the sight of the famous Eifel tower what outside his window, and he didn't notice it since he focused his eyes on Natalia's reflection on his window.

He was sweating again. Why does he have to feel so nervous today? Bela was sitting quietly on her corner, and he could tell that the silence is getting to her too. The way she would cross her arms and tap her feet on the carpet impatiently, were obvious body language that she was already intolerant and bothered of the discomfiture growing between them. Alfred's eyes drifted around the car, outside the window, just anywhere but on Bela. He was trying to degrade his nervousness, letting minutes come and go, thinking of a good thing to say. His eyes drifted to the driver who was looking at him from the mirror and rolled his eyes. Alfred blushed at the embarrassment.

"Hey," Natalia said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I didn't know there was a fast food restaurant here…" She pointed to the McDonalds outside the window, and Alfred fixed his eyes on it as the car passed by.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. I invested in this place, in case I needed a place to eat decent food whenever I come here."

"But isn't France known for its best dishes?"

"Well, yeah, but for a time you'll get sick to foreign foods, and start to look for an old favorite…"

Natalia nodded. "I see."

Awkward silence.

"Hey, you think we can eat some burgers some time?" Alfred said. "It's been a while since you last tasted burger."

"I actually got a burger every once a month or so, since there's a lot of fast food chains in my country."

"Oh."

Awkward silence.

"I thought that restaurant was nearby," Natalia said. "It must be thirty minutes since we boarded this taxi."

"N-No, it's only been fifteen minutes…"

"Oh." She sighed. "Must've felt longer when we're idle, da?"

"Yeah…"

Awkward silence.

Neither of them was speaking this time. Alfred knew that their destination was nearby so maybe by then he could actually think of a worthwhile conversation with her. She'll never agree to go out with him again if she wasn't having fun now. He mentally face-palmed himself. _Is this even a date,_ He thought, questioning himself.

After a short while, the driver played a song on the radio, where he didn't know the song or the title. The lyrics were in French, but he somehow he knew he could understand them.

"I know that song…" Belarus addressed the driver.

"Yes, it was one of the greatest love songs ever written and composed. Yet the artist was not well-known and the song did not become famous. Yet I think a few people over the internet discovered this song and somehow it became a little popular." Said the driver who smiled at her.

"Yes, I heard it somewhere before." Natalia said. "It was a song written by Antoinette La Vau, who had loved someone so much, and she talked about the sweet moments she had with her beloved. I-I thought that song was a happy one, yet at the bridge she talked about how the man had no feelings for her, and everything she thought they had was only in her mind. In the end, the man pushed her away from him, and she wouldn't stop loving him. In the end, she found that he loves another woman, so she stopped and killed herself, yet she continues on loving him up until the end."

_They're having a much more interesting conversation than what I can come up with_, Alfred thought bitterly.

"An unfortunate story, yes." He said. "But, what everyone doesn't know is that the story is real, and Antoinette recorded the song before she committed suicide."

Natalia did not reply.

"After her death, her lover, Georges, confessed his love for her, and everything he had done was to drive her away from him, because he knew he was dying of cancer, and he doesn't want her to cry over him when he did. Georges died seven months later, and he died smiling. His last words were '_I can finally see her._'"

Natalia's face gloomed. "That was an ill-fated story… you know, sometimes I try to kill myself, because I learned that the one I loved doesn't loved me back, yet I know that even if I died, he wouldn't change his feelings for me."

The driver looked at Alfred again, who shook his head. _It wasn't me_, thought Alfred.

"Every time I would try, though, this guy stops me." She looked at Alfred. "I just don't know if he is a curse from hell or a blessing from God." She smiled at him.

And of course, the hero couldn't help but to smile back…

"HOLD ON!" the driver announced before taking sharp turn, making Belarus, who was not belted, crash her body into Alfred, her lips close to his neck. "I'm sorry!"

"B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-B-BELA!" Alfred what completely taken by surprise, Belarus having to be on top of him, likely to be hugging him, while he could feel her breath on his neck, her leg across his knees.

"Aw," she had her hand on his left shoulder which she slid idly down his chest, sending tingling sensations all over Alfred's body.

"Ah…"

She jerked away, with cheeks flushed as pink as her lips, upon realizing that she had her body rested on top of him. She felt like she wanted to bring her knife out in embarrassment, hidden behind her short skirt. Having such a short dress gave her difficulty to conceal her weapons, but somehow she could not refuse wearing it. It was of course, another gift from Alfred, (and she shyly admitted that it was beautiful, and it would be a shame not to wear it). Somehow she felt like he chose that particular dress on purpose, to stop her from bringing her weapons, so he could play the hero—or maybe he had other perverted reasons. Either way, Natalia did not want to know further.

She placed her hand on her thigh, close to her hips, feeling the blade beneath, slowly pulling it up, attempting to go for the weapon, attempting to threaten America into vowing that he would forget that moment, and bury it deep, _deep_, into his memory.

"Bela—don't!" America placed his hand on top of hers which was placed on her thigh, gripping her hand with the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up a bit, revealing the garter underneath, as well as the blades.

"Gah! Stop!" She swatted his hand and moved a little away from him.

By the time his palm was on his forehead, Belarus had pressed herself against the car door to her side, making an uncomfortable distance between them. The knife was dangerously positioned in her hands. Her message was clear; _go away you perverted bastard_.

She had misinterpreted the situation, and for that, America could not blame her. He admitted that what he had done was idiotic of him (to no surprise), and he should've done something less _hasty_ to stop her from unsheathing her knife before she could threaten him and the driver. The sight of Bela's flushed cheeks, and weary eyes were a distraction to him. _She looked cute like that, just being offended—wait, what am I thinking? I should _apologize… _to her_, America thought.

A deep shade of crimson formed on his cheeks, as well as Natalia's, both of them struck witless.

Alfred was dumbfounded, as well as guilty, even with clean intentions. _Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, stupid, stupid, idiot of an American. You're a poor excuse of the American civilization! You idiot! Way to go ruin a perfect evening! Way to go making the girl you like think that you're some echi freak! You're an idiot, Jones,_ Alfred thought, _a big fat idiot!_

He had something he should feel guilty about as well, something he couldn't explain. He hated to admit it, but for a moment, just upon realization and before she had slapped his hand, he felt… _well, you know_. He felt inclined to that touch, to that _sensation_ that he wanted more, _more_ and beyond.

_All in time. All in damn time._

"S-Sorry…" He managed.

Belarus did not utter a word, until the cab had stopped to their destination. She got out quickly, not waiting for Alfred to open the door for her.

"Bela—" He called as he got out of the car as well. He could not think straight, almost forgetting to pay the fare. He leaned down to the driver's window, paid him, and tried to catch up with Natalia who had already entered the restaurant without him.

"Hey, son." The driver called, making Alfred stop to address him.

"Yeah?"

"I did you a favor. Now good luck with your girlfriend." He winked at him before driving away.

_How was that a favor? You made her hate me, damn it,_ he thought. He rushed in inside to catch up with her. She was at the entrance, with a guy who works there, having his hands on her shoulders, trying to take her coat, as she shrugs it off. With a hint of jealousy, Alfred interrupted. "I'll do the honors." The boy blinked at him and stepped back immediately, afraid of Alfred's sudden glare along with a deep, threatening voice.

Belarus was aware of Alfred hands on her shoulders, sliding down her arms as she shrugged off her coat.

_That touch… That touch…_

Tingling his hands were, when he had placed it against her bare shoulder after her coat was taken, sending Goosebumps down her arms.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't what you think," he said so sincerely, that Bela had believed him.

She had to pretend that she wouldn't forgive him, that she was tremendously offended, as well as violated. She had to pretend that she hated what had happened, that she felt annoyed by the situation. Though, she was a little annoyed, _to herself_, and not to Alfred. She was very much aware of his clean intentions. The reason she had swatted his hand and moved away from him, rushing and trying to avoid him, was because of the building sensation around her body that she had never felt against Alfred's touch. She hated that sensation—that feeling that she almost desired for… she had to admit to herself, she loved it as well. But, no—she must neglect it.

"Bela… please, don't get angry with me…"

She did not reply.

"Bela, please…" He tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm sorry."

There was something different about this touch now, something she liked even more. She could not identify it, not with him. His hand felt cold, yet warm and welcoming. The contrasting feeling she had been sensing was driving her to the point of absolute confusion.

It was just a touch…

A touch that had went under the garter on her thigh…

_It was just a touch_, Natalia assured herself. _It changes nothing. _Yet, after all the hesitation, she couldn't help but to twine her arm around his. "Forgiven."

_There's nothing about it. It's nothing, stupid girl_, she thought. _Don't ever think on using Alfred as an instrument to forget about Ivan._

_Seducing_ was the thought, as well as that touch, she couldn't give in. She can't afford to.

"Bela," Alfred whispered close to her ear. "Let's go, I promise never to speak on it again, okay. Let's just forget about it."

_Oh. So he never meant anything about it._

It kind of upset her. It was a disappointment that she couldn't even seem appealing to him—_what am I thinking,_ she screamed at herself.

He led her to their table, and every second of it she had thought of her silly fantasies, and despised herself for it. She thought hard, that she seemed lost to the world, except for the Alfred's touch that connected her to reality. She almost stumbled, yet another hand had secured her. It almost felt depressing to have him let go of her as they took their seats across of each other.

_But, no matter_. There was plenty of time with him.

Obsession—it was once again infecting her blood, veins throbbing with desire and a hint of love. Her inner, wiser self was trying to stop her, pulling her red strings, and tangling her again, trying to knot her back to Ivan, because her wiser self knew that Ivan is much, _much_ easier to deal with than this American.

It was always the heart that controlled over Natalia Arlovskaya, though, not her brain. She felt a mixture of different emotions, and she wanted to cry so bad for it, not knowing if it was for joy, or for the sadness she felt.

_Not again, no. I won't believe it. It takes much more than that to convince me. _

Much more.

_"Saints and Sinners may be separated by their actions, but they are united by their reaction to passion."_

_― Gaiven Clairmont, Unknown Book 12377521_

-end of chapter three-

* * *

**What? Did that escalated quickly? **

**Sorry.**

**This wasn't supposed to be the end of the chapter, but if I included the rest, it would be too awfully long—even for me (also, I got to remind myself that this is fiction "T")**

**Oh, and is someone here a RusBel fan? Please inform me if you are, because it's gonna influence my story a lot. **

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW **

**PLEASE :')**

**(but please be gentle)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it took so long, guys. I feel guilty.**

**It's just that school was tough (how come I wasn't informed of how tough Accounting can be).**

**Flashback. This chapter contains a flashback, just to be clear.**

**I feel like most of the chapter's contents are dialogues… I hope I don't bore you guys.**

-chapter four-

* * *

_It's getting annoying_, America thought. From that moment when the waiter came to take their order, until he came back, she was eying him intensely. Whenever he would move out of view, she let her eyes drop to her food, clearly with no appetite, then start to wander on the other people around the restaurant, not uttering a single word as she did. She hardly ate her meal, fidgeting with the table knife, apparently disappointed that such a knife looked so dull.

She hadn't glanced at America since she saw that waiter. He tried to start a meaningful conversation, yet apparently she's mentally absent, again lost in the depths of her mind.

"A penny for your thoughts?" He told her, leaning forward to brush a stand of hair behind her ear, purposely so he'd have her attention.

She jerked a bit, unaware of the sudden touch. She looked at him finally, yet such beautiful lilac eyes averted from his gaze once again. "It's nothing."

"Bela," America sat back on his seat leisurely, with his back slumped and his head resting on his palm. "You know I hate it when you don't eat your food."

"I'm not hungry at all."

He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?" His voice was sort of a warning to her, teasing and threatening. Finally he caught her eye again, now locked with his.

She crossed her arms with hint of annoyance and stubbornness. "Yes," her voice stern.

"Well, then, if that's the case…" He trailed off and cut a portion of the meat on his plate and leaned forward across the table, one hand placed on the flat surface to keep his balance, the other holding a fork with meat on it pointing it towards Belarus' mouth. "You leave me no choice, Bela, I must feed you myself!" He grinned.

Because of America's actions, the people around them started to notice and stare. With reddening cheeks, Belarus leaned back a little away from him. Her eyes started to drift from America, to the fork, and back to him again, trying to ignore the eyes placed on them. She pressed her lips together when America tried to stuff the food in her mouth.

"Well?" He waited, titling his head to the side.

She scolded him. "You idiot! People are staring—" while she said the words, America took the opportunity to shove the fork in her mouth. "MM!" He settled the fork down then placed his fingers on her jaw.

"Chew." He told her.

"MM!" She hesitated.

"Chew or I'll do it for you," he whispered. "And I don't care if these people stare, or what they think about us."

She had her grip on the knife tight, knuckles turning white. She used it to stab the wooden table, not caring how fancy it was. The knife stood between them, a clear message that she wants her space. America frowned and sat back. Sighing, he stared at her, blushing at the embarrassment he'd caused her. She chewed the food, thankfully. Though she probably had no choice but to chew and swallow. She'd hate it if she had to spit it out.

"Sorry about that…"

Her brows arced, and America couldn't deny that she looked absolutely cute when she's annoyed…yet later on she got scarier and scarier. She ate her food slowly, and her face started to lighten afterwards. _She must've liked the food_, Alfred assumed.

"Alfred," Belarus called. "Stop staring at me."

"O-Oh! Sorry!" He blushed.

The waiter came back again, and Belarus' eyes were fixed on him again. "May I get you anything else, Monsieur? Mademoiselle?"

They didn't reply, for Alfred was too busy glaring at him, whilst his date blushed at the presence of the waiter who looked so much like her brother. The waiter paid him no attention, only smiling at Belarus, probably enjoying her flushed cheeks and embarrassed eyes. _Damn you, bastard_, America thought. _Am I really that pathetic, having to be beaten by a waiter?_

He cleared his throat. "No, we're good."

The waiter turned to him, his platinum hair gently swaying as he did. "Feel free to call for me. I am at your service." He bowed formally and left them not long after.

After moments of consideration, Belarus raised her eyes. "Remember the day we ate dinner like this in Washington?"

He laughed. "Of course!"

He remembered that day vividly. She ran away from him, having to be offended when an insult to her brother slipped off his tongue.

He couldn't help it, having her to be all over him, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was degrade Ivan in her eyes, maybe just to let her realize that he's not worth the fuzz. America knew it was wrong, and he regretted it. He never stood a chance against her brother, no matter how much he tried. He excelled pass Russia, globally speaking, and did things better than he did, yet in Natalia's eyes, he was perfect in any way and she'll never think of him less than that. America showed off in many ways, different ways, even gaining the title of being boastful. He just wanted an excuse to think that he's a better pair for Natalia—to think that he's better than of Russia.

"My brother is not a pitiful person!" Natalia had said. "Stop making such absurd comments about him! You don't know him!"

Why was she so protective of him? Why can't she ever appreciate the things Alfred did for her? She was beautiful, intellectual, brave and kind—yes, she was kind. America can see that trait, that personality that she confines within her. Her only weakness was to be thought of being weak, and she can't let emotion, fear and gentleness destroy her image. She doesn't mind being thought of scary and aggressive by the others, she doesn't mind if they isolate themselves from her. Though she was afraid of leaking her weakness, afraid that they might've thought of her as an easy target, so she puts on a cold face, making herself seem the predator and not the prey.

It was that side of her that America really loved about. He loved how different her personality be from the other. That she is the kind of person that is rare to find, that not many men would focus upon. She was like the brightest, most beautiful sunflower, covered, hidden, by other sunflowers of her kind, shadowing her.

And with luck, it was America who found her.

He had immediately fallen for her. At first, America hated the thought of having to be forced by his leaders to take his former enemy under his wing, to live with her and befriend her, despite the recent dissolution of the USSR. He knew for a certainty that Belarus must've hated him, being one of the reasons why her precious USSR broke up.

They never talked much during the early and mid 20th century, for Russia always stood representative for the whole of USSR, so Belarus was seldom seen. He had nothing against her though, only that he had seen her crazy, bloodthirsty side and he was kind of afraid of living with her for the next few months, despite the fact that he was a brave hero.

He was waiting for Belarus to arrive at the airport. It was a long and boring wait, and soon he found himself sleeping on the bench he was sitting on. A sudden tap on his shoulder woken him, and he found the sweet face of a sleeping beauty resting her head on his shoulder. He only needed a few seconds to realize that this was her—and damn, he never knew she was this hot.

Of course, he remember a few encounters where he found himself stopping, gaping at her face, admiring the beauty she held—but those moments she had her face scowling, grinning, with bloodlust in her eyes. He never saw her with such gentle expression until then.

That was the first strike. He knew that somehow he felt attracted to her, not minding if she'll sleep on his side for days. He liked the tickle of her breath on his neck, and the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his. It was almost… comforting. He was determined to take care of her, for somehow he knew that maybe she was a nice person, unlike what she projects to be. She was sleeping there, so angelic, so maybe she wasn't as scary as he thought, and besides,he liked how she looked sleeping. Like she was an innocent damsel, and he was her knight in shining armor. It was almost a disappointment when she woke up, yet her blushing face made up for it.

He expected her to be cold to him, and it took him by no surprise to find that she did, yet he wished she'd lessen being such an ice queen. That way, they could've been great friends, even lovers, maybe. Yet no, she acts as if she hated him, as if he had committed such a grave sin that he has to make up for repeatedly. Nevertheless, Alfred remembered a few encounters where she'd warmed up to him.

That night, in Washington, when they were having an extravagant dinner in Alfred's dining room, Belarus was offended by his rash comment against her brother.

She abruptly stood up, palms slamming on the surface of the table, pushing her chair back, her red wine spilling on the fine linen table cover. She had her grip on her skirt; right on the spot where America knew the blades lay underneath. She was raising her voice, eyes teary, and Alfred was surprised.

"… you don't know him!" She yelled. "I-If that is what you think about him—about us—"

Alfred came up to her, accidentally swatted his glass, not paying any mind to the harsh brittle sound of it as it broke into a million pieces when it met the floor. He reached her and held her hand tightly, whispering an apology in her ear.

"—about…me…"

He embraced her, trying to soothe her, trying to express his regret.

"Then please, don't try to pretend that you care!" She pushed him away aggressively. "If you don't trust me—us, then I'll leave on my own free will! Your leaders needn't issue such reports, saying that I should leave."

"NO! You can't do that!" He had his voice raised, which took her by surprise. She was a handful, and because of her, his personal life had been more complicated. He was tired trying to be her butler sometimes. "You can't leave this house like that, Bela!"

He was tired, tired of trying to be her hero.

"_Don't tell me what to do!"_ Without proper clothing, she stormed off, leaving the house, slamming the door, running out in the cold.

_Idiot, she hates you now,_ America scolded himself. _What are you doing, what are you saying? It's true that she's tiring me, yet, could I just leave her be?_

_Maybe I should_. She was giving him headaches lately, ever since she started acting like she was angry about the US' accusations that she was undemocratic. _Why should she care? She should be happy that his country wanted her back to her own. Isn't that what she'd wanted_? He didn't realize he was crying until he tasted the salt of his tears on his lips. _Why am I crying? It's not like… it's not like she meant something to me._

He assured and reassured himself that it was impossible for him to like her in a way that he'd be crying like this. She was Russia's sister, an image of his very likeness. She was violent, unpredictable, scary. Imagining her faces, her furious faces, he shivered. Yet upon doing so, he remembered her face when she slept with her head on his shoulder, her face when she was blushing, when she way shy, when she cried.

She _always_ cried because of Ivan. America couldn't understand why. She cried when he was away, cried when he sent her away. She cried when he wouldn't communicate with her, cried when he said mean things. Alfred only wanted to make her smile. He couldn't bear seeing a friend with such a sad, sullen face—with such misery. He wanted to take her mind off her brother, so he tried to distract her with his own presence. America always had enjoyed his moments with Belarus…

_So how did it all turned into this?_

There was a conflict raging between their countries, America having to mistrust Belarus of being undemocratic, and Belarus accusing America of inappropriately intervening with internal affairs. Alfred and Natalia didn't want that, they had nothing to do with their leaders' relationship nor their contradiction. But soon, their countries' conflict became their personal problem as well.

Natalia would blame Alfred of the accusations that was given to her, assuming that he had been the root of it, beginning with their personal lives. _"I know I never impressed you. But why would you make up these things against me? Are you trying to take over my government as well?"_ Belarus' voice rang in his ears.

He had nothing against her, nothing at all. Yet the way she would deliver her words seemed rather offending. How was it that she won't believe a word he said? Was he really that untrustworthy a person?

With that issue weighing down on them, they would hardly talk for days, each giving the cold shoulder to the other. When America tried to reconcile with preparing an extravagant dinner for her, things got worse. Such a little thing as a slip of the tongue—a small insult he gave about Russia, she raged. And when she walked out the door, America wondered why she had those tears running down her cheeks.

How could he call himself the hero, having to make the damsel he was trying to save, cry?

The next thing Alfred knew was guilt. He was running out in the cold, running and looking for her. All he could hear was his rushed footsteps against the slippery pavement and the distant roar of cars. What overwhelmed his hearing and all his senses in general, was the thumping heart that seemed to beat harder and harder. He wasn't sure if it was because of his running, or because of his emotions—all he knew that each beat sent strong sensations in his chest.

He tried to think straight, keeping his eyes alert, scanning the area for a silver-haired woman. His building tears were obscuring his vision, as his emotions obscured his thinking.

Alfred didn't know where his emotions came from, nor where did he get the sudden determination, but all he knew that he had to reach her before she could do anything harmful. Somehow his Adrenal Gland was acting, secreting the hormone adrenaline, and the reason for it Alfred didn't quite understand. Though a small thought intoxicated his mind—that what if she was in danger? She was a strong woman, it is impossible for her to be in actual danger and yet… Alfred worried about her.

_Because the real danger is herself, and she needs to be saved._

It was true that she was suicidal, Alfred couldn't blame her. He too had come to the point of almost killing himself purposely, yet for some reason he didn't persisted with his plan. He thought maybe it was because of his people, his comrades who fought for the glory of America. He couldn't just die on them—even though living was so much harder. Living had its ups and downs, and he knew for himself that he was no quitter. He couldn't just quit on Natalia as well. Such beauty would go to waste, such a strong body, useless. She needs to live, for herself, for her country, for her brother… Alfred wanted Natalia to realize that, before who knows what she'll do?

Running was no use, he couldn't find her anywhere. She left brusquely, meaning she hadn't had money with her, so she must close by.

He just had to find her. _He had to_.

Yet soon enough, he was out of breath. He leaned on a brick wall, catching his breath with his hand placed over his chest trying to calm down his running heartbeats. On his face, the sweat perspired from his forehead dripped down his nose and cheeks. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and slid his body down until he was sitting on the cold ground.

A white cat was passing by and found him sitting on the ground, looking so troubled. Alfred let out silent whines as he panted, running his fingers through his hair wildly. He caught the feline's mismatched blue and green eyes, which seemed to be glowing in the dark.

"You're so cute," he told the cat when he was breathing normally again. "You're just like Bela." He watched its head tilt to one side, the bell on its collar ringing.

America let out a weak laugh. "I wish I could put a bell on her too. That way she'll be easy to find. You know what, cat? I'll call you Bells." The cat sat down in a graceful way, and began to lick its paws. "Aw, you're so darn cute. Bela's cute too, you know. I like her. I wish I could keep her… but she's still too loyal to her old master, her brother. Not that I'll be her new master but… I just want her. I really want her so badly. In some weird way, I feel like I should always be on her side. I feel like I want to cuddle her, dress her in pretty clothes, pamper her, and spoil her. I don't know why or how these feelings ripened."

Bells purred.

"I wish I could tame her… but then maybe not. She's perfect the way she is—ferocious and dangerous. I wish I could be a significant person in her world, not as an enemy, but as a friend…" he trailed off. _Maybe a little more than that_, he thought. "She drives me so crazy, I'm starting to worry. But weirdly enough, I like it. She makes me happy. I like looking out for her, it's tiresome, yes, but it builds something in me. I don't know.

"To be honest, I wanted to take her brother's place. So I could be closer to her as Russia. And maybe she'll like me too, if I was her older brother. But she already has one, sad to say. Russia's so lucky. I really wonder why he couldn't see what's already in front of him. She's beautiful, smart, cool, strong and _sexy_. Who cares if she was related to him by blood? Society's so messed up. I don't see what's so wrong of siblings loving each other in a romantic way. Love is love as long as it is pure and sincere, right? Or maybe I'm just weird thinking about it that way? Anyway, I wouldn't mind marrying my younger sister if it was Bela."

Bells ran away upon hearing a shuffling sound in the bushes nearby.

It took America no surprise to have a knife thrown at him, burying the edge on the corner of the bricks as it hit the wall beside him.

"Bela? How long had you been there?"

She emerged from the tress, pulling her skirt up to unsheathe yet another knife. "You—what the hell are you saying?"

"Eh? How much had you heard?"

"All of it." She threw her second knife at him, aiming for his throat, yet the American caught it before it did harm. She glared devilishly at him. "How dare you say such words?"

"Huh?" He tilted his head to one side. "What? That you were cute? You're actually pretty scary right now, but you look absolutely sexy when you go for your knives—especially when I could see the suspender on your thighs."

Yet another knife was thrown at him. Her aim excellent, his reaction time better.

"I'm not your pet, American." She stalked towards his spot. "Don't call me cute. You don't need to cuddle me, or pamper me or spoil me. I'd hate it. And don't speak ill of my brother. Don't you dare talk about marriage, or anything about such matters with having no idea how it is to fall in love with your own brother! How it is to be judged and hated!"

For once, Alfred shut his mouth. He stared at her, who was having trouble breathing, her eyes teary once gain. She used up all her knives on him, and she hadn't plan to attack him any further. Under the orange ray of the streetlight, she let herself sit on the cold ground, her face hidden behind her hair. Her bow was slightly loosened, her hair in tangles, her clothes covered in dirt. She only sat there, crying, letting her weakness exposed. America never saw that side of her before, and he was appalled by the sight.

"I would've stopped trying to marry him if I had a choice," Belarus said in a weak, broken voice. "I can't stop my feelings. I shut my eyes and ears to the judging looks and words they throw at me. I know a lot of people are disgusted, a lot of people laugh at me. They call me a fool for rejecting every suitor, just so I could stalk my brother. You know, my brother threatened every man who tried to hit on me…" She laughed weakly. "Like I needed it… how many hearts had I broken? I honestly don't understand what they see in me… I am a freak who is in love with my own brother. I rejected so many men before, just because I couldn't erase the hope I have for my future with Ivan. I'm a bloody fool. I could've chosen one, maybe by then I won't be crying like this."

Alfred stayed quiet, waiting for her to say more. When she wouldn't, he mumbled an apology.

"You said that society is messed up. That for you, a love between a brother and a sister isn't wrong…" She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes teary. "I said those words a long time ago. When I was young I yearned for attention. I looked up to my brother and sister; they always took great care of me, putting my need ahead of theirs. My brother… he was always by my side. He gave me his attention, he gave his sweet words, and he would cuddle me at night when the nightmares come. When I grew older, and wars started to rise, he hid me from the enemies, trained and encouraged me to be strong. When the Germans spread their violence in my country, my brother was the one who was furious, and he came quickly to retrieve my freedom. When the Germans retreated, my brother released me from captivity. He wrapped his arms around me tight, kissed my forehead and took me back to the Soviet mansion.

"He was… my hero. Could you blame me if I loved him? I don't know any man that would be better than him." Belarus shrieked. "I love him so much it hurts! It really hurts!"

"Bela…" America said, unknown of the next words to say. He was speechless. He didn't expected this to happen.

"Alfred," Belarus said. "I trust you'd keep this a secret to everybody? That I collapsed like this?"

"Bela…" He started getting up, gathering the knives that scattered before him.

"Please?" She sobbed. "I beg you."

He hurried to where she sat. "Stop it. Stop it, please." He placed the knives on the ground beside her. "Hurt me, kill me, but please don't break down like this. I hate to see you cry, to see you so vulnerable." He took the risk and wrapped his arms tightly around her body. "Stop it, Bela. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I didn't mean what I said about your brother… but I'm afraid I couldn't say the same for the conversation I had with the cat." He sniffed her hair, smelling of sweet lavender. "Bela, I do care for you. I want to be your big brother. I feel like I have the obligation to."

"Idiot…" She cursed him weakly. "Idiot, idiot, stupid idiot."

She sobbed softly. She pounded her fist on his chest every time she called him an idiot. Having the American's arms wrapped around her like this, having him too close to her makes her feel uncomfortable, yet ironically it calming as well. After all, all Belarus wanted was to feel the warmth around her, arms encircling her, a shoulder to rest her head upon. During a harsh winter, when the cold feels so bitter, when she could feel her pulse slowly fading, she would want to find herself cuddled with the only source of warmth she had, where she could feel his heart beating for her, somehow keeping her alive.

How come she could feel that right now? Irrelevant of the fact that it was always Russia she pictured in her mind.

She liked it like this, when America would embrace her tightly whenever she was crying. She liked having him call her "Bela," no matter how embarrassing it was. She liked it that he saved her from herself, that he was willing to take a bullet for her. She liked the sound of his voice exclaiming that he wants her alive and by his side.

She felt deceived. She loved her brother, and this man was trying to pull her away from him with his charms. She was not an easy target, the world knew that, yet how come this American could break her defenses without any act of violence, without even trying.

She sobbed on his shoulder, still murmuring of how a big idiot he was.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm an idiot, Bela." He said, his breath on her hair. "When the time comes that you'll marry Ivan, invite me, okay…?"

She jerked and pounded her fist on his chest hard, forcing him to back away. She stood up and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Shut up." She said coldly. "Shut up, you idiot! Don't say it! Don't say it like you take things like this lightly.

"I wanted him, I wanted him so bad. He makes me whole. He makes me crazy, makes me sad and makes me happy. I was always so frustrated knowing that I would never please him. I knew, I knew all along that he doesn't have such feelings for me, yet I pretended that I didn't. I started to tell lies to myself that he'll love me someday if only I would never give up. Yet in the process, my heart was torn to shreds. He would always run away, he would always hide from me. He started to leave me alone, avoided me. It hurt. It really hurt. So I decided to stalk him, try to be so aggressive—because what other choice do I have? He was my only source of warmth in a bitter winter. I could never let anyone steal him from me… if that ever happens, then the cold would kill me.

"I wouldn't have tried so damn hard to make him love me, for him to marry me, if he didn't have the things that I love. He's kind to me, gentle, caring. He always looked after me, became the person I look up to. He had always tried so hard to run his country, to try to let his people cooperate for the good of Russia and the Soviet Union, even if it breaks him. He always helped me, saved me from the enemies. Even with my disapproval, he always told me to leave everything to him, so I wouldn't get hurt, so I wouldn't worry. He always put my welfare ahead of his.

"No one understands him except from my sister and I. We knew the real Ivan, and we loved him, only I loved him to the extent that I want to marry him, to become one with him so we can always be together, side by side, against the entire world. I tried to become closer to him, to never disappoint him , to always make him proud, yet after all my efforts he was still lonely. I guess I was never the girl who could actually make him smile." She stopped to catch her breath, waiting patiently for Alfred's response. Instead he stared at her, his expression soft and barely breathing, his body unmoving. He acted as if he was waiting for her to say more. He waited for her, and she waited for him to calculate a reply.

"Bela…"

"People… the world… it feels as if the whole world condemns me." She balled her fists. "They said my love is impure, they say that loving someone with my own blood is wrong, and that my acts are unacceptable. It hurt as much as my brother hurts me, having to be judged so starkly." She pointed her finger at Alfred. "So please don't say such foolish things. Don't say that you want to be my brother… so I can start to like you. I let myself drown in solitude and keep others away so I wouldn't get hurt. Do you want that same fate? Do you want to be judged, to be condemned by society? Do you want to sacrifice your reputation just so one person can be friends with you? I would give everything for me to stop loving my own brother. Yet such a thing remains impossible."

"Bela…"

"Just being related to me… being with me… won't that get you bad comments from people? Having to be with the incest freak? Aren't you even aware of how weird I am, of how scary I am? Won't having me by your side shame you?"

"Bela, stop this."

She shook her head. She pushed him away, and she started to run.

Before she could be away from his sight, before she could escape, he grabbed her hand, pulling her back to his embrace. "I don't give a damn what people say, Bela. How could I let them run my life? How am I supposed to be myself if I let the society take a great part of my identity?" He scolded her. "How come you think so low of yourself when in reality, you're not? Bela, I don't know if you noticed, but a lot of the countries look up to you… for simply just being yourself."

She tried to push him away again, but this time Alfred prevented her from doing so. "Listen to me, Bela. You're a lot of things. You're smart, you're powerful, you're strong." He sighed. "You're cool, you're strong-willed, you're graceful. You're full of determination, full of life. You're petty, you're beautiful, and you're sexy. And… many people misunderstand and misuse the word 'love,' yet you know it well, and you give it such a great definition. You have a gentle heart, Bela, though why hide it?" He kissed her head. "I am not ashamed of being with this girl I am holding right now. Believe me, Bela, I'll show you off to the entire world, proclaiming how lucky I am to be with you."

She was still, listening intently to his words.

"I wish I was as cool as your brother, that way you won't be ashamed of me."

She pounded his chest once more. "W-Who says I am? You're really an idiot, jeez…"

It was awkward after the words wouldn't come out of their mouths anymore. Both were quiet, struck speechless, and letting the conversation they shared sink in. It seemed forever before Alfred's arms loosened around her, and when he finally let her go, she didn't run. She remained still, remained close him.

_After that night, they became a little closer than before._

_Only their friendship ended quite bitterly, when the day came that Belarus was ordered back to Europe._

-end of chapter four-

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**OMG. Originally, chapter three and four were not separate, but since it was too long I decided to divide the contents. But you know what? The upcoming chapter, the fifth one, was also originally part of chapter three. Heh.**

**As always, please review. :) be kind. Hehe.**


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